Moving the rock off of my husband

The most exciting thing to happen to me this week revolved around purchasing two tickets for a musical coming to Anchorage in December.

Oh sure, there was that Halloween thing that centered around two children’s costume parties, only one to which I forgot to bring snacks to share with the group.

And then there was also trick-or-treating later that evening in which the only way we could get the 18-month old to stop wailing was when we thrust semi-frozen M&Ms into her gaping mouth. Her being upset probably had a lot to do with the fact that her cute costume was safety-pinned to the outside of her snowsuit so people could she was meant to be Dorothy in connection with her 3-year-old brother’s Cowardly Lion costume, my Wicked Witch costume and the family friend’s Scarecrow costume.

Her brother’s costume was intentionally purchased several sizes too big so that he might wear his snowsuit underneath. I couldn’t find a larger Dorothy costume for the baby, so she had to make do with safety pins on her big brother’s hand-me-down Steelers snowsuit. I haven’t had much luck finding a snowsuit to fit her either.

She was decidedly unhappy about being confined to her stroller while her big brother went and rang doorbells and begged for candy. She made sure every household in our subdivision knew of her unhappiness.

And then there was my favorite comment of the week, when a lady at a costume party earlier on Halloween surveyed our small group and asked where the Tin Woodman was. My son confidently told her that his daddy was the Tin Woodman and she then asked my son where his daddy was.

“My daddy’s in Iraq,” was what I heard my son state.

“My daddy’s in a rock,” was what the bewildered woman heard. She looked at my son in complete bafflement and then asked in a concerned tone what kind of a rock his daddy was under. I’m assuming she means to contact Ann Rule soon and get a book deal out of what she suspects is a huge, hidden family secret.

Halloween was highly entertaining and loud in this household and filled with giggles, as is pretty much everything we do is, I’ve discovered. But even that wasn’t the high point of my week.

The high point of my week came early on when my husband was reviewing some upcoming performances online in Iraq and noticed the show “The Producers” was coming to Anchorage in mid-December. He knows this is a comedy I’ve always wanted to see, so he sent me an e-mail asking what night we should get tickets.

It hit me then and there that I would be buying tickets for this event for the two of us, something I have not done in over a year. We are making plans to do something together, just the two of us, in less than eight weeks. The two of us would be together, going out on a date. He even asked about what restaurant we should go to beforehand.

It probably seems so small to most people, going to see a play together. Big Deal.

Yet, I am making an appointment for us centered around his homecoming. We are making plans for what we can do together once he gets home. It has been so long since we have been able to plan something like this, something together, that I am positively ecstatic.

Later on this week I’ll be making reservations for us to see that upcoming show. Reservations for my husband and I.

I think that has a nice ring to it.

Now, I only need to find a baby-sitter and hopefully move the rock that my husband is under.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, is deployed to Iraq. She writes every Sunday abut life at home for the wife of a deployed soldier.