(A companion to this post on my other blog. )
Oh boy is this house quiet ..
A little back story, in case you don't know: A couple of years ago my husband took early retirement. It was rather sudden, and although it was definitely the right thing to do, still in one way or another it brought my own little world crashing down around me. I'd "retired" (read QUIT) the home cleaning biz a few years before and in those few years I became used to, and rather fond of my long days alone.
Now don't get me wrong, I not only love my husband dearly, I also like him, something rather unusual in a marriage as I understand these things. I enjoy his company, and he mine. But to go from 11 hrs on my own, (he had a very long commute), 5 days a week to suddenly not one moment alone, ever, well it was a bit of a shock.
Now here we are, 2 years later and he's gone back to work, although only 3 days a week. My joy was, well, joyful. My solitude! I can listen to girly music at full volume! Sweep the floor without asking him to lift his feet! Etc!
Yeah, right. I miss him, dammit. Not every moment, but when it's time to make some tea I sure miss calling him to the kitchen. And at lunch time. And that part of the afternoon after most of the chores are done but before it's time to start supper, when we'd meet up (and have another cup of tea) and hang out for a little while, just chatting about nothing.
It's embarrassing. After all these years together who misses their husband when he's not around?
So is something else I've realized about myself - something that was the reason for a little spat we had recently and I've had to go to him and tell him "you were right, I apologize". I'd been peeved a few weeks ago that he often doesn't answer me when I'm talking to him. In fact he seems to flat out ignore the sound of my voice. His defence was "but I often think you're just talking to yourself!".
Ahem - is this ringing familiar in anyone's ears?
I don't recall exactly what I said but it was something along the lines of "Hey, bub, I don't talk to myself that much. I may mutter to the bread dough once in a while, or curse at the gravy if it goes lumpy, but that's just a word or two. If you hear what sounds like a whole paragraph, I am talking to YOU."
Apparently not so. Over the course of the last few days I have heard myself. I talk. Aloud. A lot. Oh my. It's not even that I am talking to myself so much as the inanimate objects I'm dealing with. I caught myself telling the fire "I'll be back to check on you in half an hour" then turning to the washer and asking it what cycle it was on (yes! out loud!) then picking up a dropped sock and scolding it "what are you doing here!" Granted, not quite a paragraph but I can now see his point. Ouch.
So today I'm trying not to do it, of course. But it just makes the house that much quieter and that's no fun.