My husband has disappeared.
I sigh and try to quash my irritation. One of the distinct advantages of having a mate is being able to share our burdens and chores. One of the hardest things for my Aspergian hubby to do is deviate from the cemented mindsets his brain in focused on.
On weekends we don't always have a preset wake time. I typically am up at dawn, but Steve will get up to use the restroom, then bed back down for another hour or four of snoozing.
I don't exactly 'get it', as once my eye pop open in the morning I am wide awake and must get up. Other than near death illnesses I simply can't turn over and drift back to sleep. Doesn't happen for me.
Our Last-Child-At-Home can, and often does, sleep in depending upon the time he retired the night before and/or what his activities were for the previous day.
On weekends during baseball season we might have early baseball games. Due to our rural location in relation to the urban Seattle area, it can require an hour or more of driving to get to the ball field, which in turn requires an early leave time which dictates an even earlier wake up time.
All to say that tired, dragging feet on our son's behalf can lead to a frantic departure. I gather up and load up gear, coolers, spare clothing (nothing can ruin a good game faster than sliding into home base and having your trousers rip out), umbrellas, sunscreen (our weather is truly bipolar here), high protein snacks, and a multitude of other miscellaneous 'baseball mom' items.
Occasionally I will ask The Hubster to help me load my car.
You'd think he would welcome the chance to do something for his wonderful son as Steve doesn't usually go to the games with us. But no, Hubby moans, drags his feet, refuses to listen, before wandering off to who knows where. I then find my things set down in the oddest places.
Granted, I am most likely rapid-firing instructions at a rate that my Aspie Spouse is incapable of absorbing. After all this time, I should remember that. I am amazed at how he can totally tune out the commotion around him, or how he can turn into the Invisible Man at the drop of a hat.
Manlet's baseball hat, of course. Laying directly dead center in our front sidewalk on the way to my car that is only six more steps away with the rear hatch fully open.
Huh. Sensory overload, I guess. At least Steve didn't carry the hat off with him wherever he disappeared to.
Thank you Lord for small wonders, lol.