Swing Shift

Talk radio blared in my ear. I reached over and hit the snooze button for the third time that morning. Or maybe the fourth.

My husband was working the graveyard shift—midnight to eight—and I didn’t expect him back for another hour. I hadn’t slept well and was desperate for more rest. If only I could adjust to Joe’s new schedule!

Joe works on the Illinois River. He used to be a crane mechanic, a stressful and physically demanding job with a lot of travel and overtime.

But one thing I could count on, his schedule was more or less the same week after week. We had a quick breakfast together, I packed him a lunch and hoped to see him at dinner. If he was called away for a long stretch, I managed. Taking our daughter to volleyball, tae kwon do and piano lessons kept me busy and kept my mind from missing Joe.

Recently a position as a dam and lock operator opened up. “Honey, this will be much better for us,” Joe said. “I won’t have to travel anymore. I’ll be home every day. Maybe not so much overtime, but we’ll be together more.”

“Great,” I’d said and meant it. Now that we were empty nesters, I was looking forward to having more time for just the two of us.

Only one problem: This new job meant Joe had to rotate shifts. He’d work eight to four for a while, the graveyard shift for a week, the afternoon shift the week after that, then back to the day shift. I never knew which week was which. Just when I got used to one shift, it would change.

“Freezing drizzle this morning,” the radio came on again, “turning into snow.” A dreary gray light slipped into our bedroom. I crawled out from under the blankets and dragged myself downstairs to turn on the coffee.

I used to have mornings to myself. I could clean, work out to an exercise video and take a little time for prayer and Bible study before I headed off to my barista job at the coffee shop in town. Not anymore.

If Joe was home and awake, I felt self-conscious doing jumping jacks in front of the TV. If he had to sleep, I worried about making too much noise vacuuming. Days like today, he’d want to unwind and talk just when I was trying to read at the breakfast table. If I didn’t do my devotions first thing, my day was shot.

It was easier when he had to travel, I thought. I got so much more done. Immediately I felt ashamed. We were blessed to have jobs and be able to send our daughter to college, especially in this economy. Blessed, even more, to have each other. I knew that. Lately, though, it was hard to feel it.

Groggy, I sipped my coffee and tried to focus on my study Bible. The day’s reading was from Thessalonians. I’d only gotten a few lines in when I heard Joe’s truck pull into our driveway.