LEAVING MY HUSBAND

I've left my husband.

Temporarily.

I rarely leave him.

He's always said he needs me, that he doesn't want me to leave him, and I joke that "You just need a concubine," and he says a hearty "Amen!" and so I seldom leave.

I remember the first time I left him for two nights. We'd been married three years, and my parents asked if I could go with them to see my brother and his wife in New Orleans. My parents had to pass near our town and thought it would be nice if I could ride with them and see my brother's new church and home (he's a minister too; we have nearly 30 ministers and wives in our family!).

Milton reluctantly agreed to "let me go" (yes, I asked for permission).

But I felt guilty.

We're two peas in a pod.

My daughter says Milton and I are joined at the hip.

I always feel incomplete without him.

I think he feels the same way.

But it would be nice to see my brother and his wife, and it was convenient, with my parents passing through.

Ever the caring, let-me-meet-all-your-needs wife, I made sure he had shirts laundered and ironed for Sunday, yada, yada, yada, even fixed food. "Milton," I said, "there's a T-bone steak in the fridge. That's for Saturday night supper."

With a bear hug and stifled sniffle, I bid him adieu and took off for New Orleans.

Had a great trip.

Rode the trolley and saw all the sights. Even met Tom-turned-Tajah-turned-Tom at my brother's church, the transsexual who found Jesus and took back his male identity. Praise Jesus.

Came home.

Unpacked.

Went into the kitchen to cook.

My main dwelling place and proud of it.

(No wonder I used to write a weekly cooking column, "Kristy's Kitchen," for a New York Times subsidiary. I'm a confessed and proud foodie.)

Pulled out my nice new cookie sheet...

That now had a burned-in, black circle in the middle.

Well, T-boned shaped.

"Milton," I said sweetly, holding up the destined-for-the-garbage-can cookie sheet, "what's this?"

He walked over to me, took the cookie sheet out of my hands, placed it on a burner, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I cooked my steak."

We've laughed many times about that.

Whoever heard of cooking a steak on a cookie sheet on top of the stove?

The possibility of ruined cookie sheets isn't why I don't leave him much.

I guess I don't leave him much because I hear that Bible verse ringing in my head about "cleaving," and you can't cleave much when you're away from your spouse. 'Course I realize some marriages have required separations, such as for job situations, or when you live out of the country (or far away) and need to visit your family and your husband can't get away, etc.

But for the most part, I personally think it's healthy to not be separated too much in a marriage, especially the first years.

So why have I left him now?

I'm in Tampa with my daughter and two grandsons, soaking up some Nana time, and also helping my daughter in her classroom. She's a single mom, and a third grade schoolteacher just starting a new school year in a brand new wing of her school, so it required some extra work. I took off some time from my normal duties, and here I am.

But I can't wait to get home.

To Milton.