Home Alone

Hubby is out of town on business...
I hate being home alone.

It's too quiet when he's not around. I'm the crazy cat lady when he's gone!...muttering to myself and talking to the cats, staying in my PJ's until noon. And I stay up too late at night when he's away because I don't like going to sleep in an empty house. I sleep with my Ruger when hubby isn't here, and but the cold steel offers little comfort. There's just something unsettling about being home alone on nights when I know he isn't going to walk through the door after work. I hate being home alone.

But I also love being home alone!

Not having to pick up after him or share the remote, or smell his nasty chicken salad sandwiches (don't ask!). I can play the stereo and not have to turn it off because he wants to watch TV. I can spend an evening in blissful silence, curled up with a good book and a cup of tea. And, best of all, I don't have to listen to him snore!



Heck, he'll be home in a few days. I think I can tough it out.

Contentment

For the last few weeks, I have noticed a marked increase in the contentedness of myself and my hubby. I attribute this warm, fuzzy feeling to the fact that after weeks of doing all of my household chores, my husband has found a new appreciation for all that I do for us in general and for him specifically.

The first few weeks after my surgery, I was unable to perform even the most basic household task, such as pouring myself a bowl of cereal or washing said bowl after eating. No longer was I picking up after myself and I certainly was unable to pick up after him. Coincidentally, the “dish fairy’ was absent from our household, no longer available to spirit dirty glasses and plates from the living room and den to the kitchen (where she kindly loaded the dishwasher and put the clean plates away). Hubby was on his own for several weeks, and he actually commented that it was hard to do his job and mine. (He would rather stick to his job.)

Not that I haven’t felt appreciated in the past, but it’s nice to hear the gratitude out loud every once in a while. After 21 years, I think I was due.

So We’re Buying a House

After several weeks of stressful searching, hubby and I have found a house that we both like, in the town we want to live in, and for a price we are willing to pay. Hurray!

The house, while not being my dream house, is very nice. It is only seven years old, has a nice, open floor plan, and it is roomy enough for us, our cats, and our stuff. Hubby gets his den and garage work-shop, we will have a guest room (should we ever have guests), and there is a small yard that I can eventually landscape. The house needs a few minor repairs before we move in, but nothing we can’t handle.

Hubby was the one who initially suggested that we buy a house again, but with all my talk of plans to update, remodel and landscape, he is more than a little freaked out over the prospect of paying for all of this. I think I need to quietly dream-remodel for a while and let him get used to the idea of having a house again before I start talking about a budget.

I suggested that instead of buying a house, he could quit his job, sell all of our belonging, and we could bum around Europe for a year or so until we run out of money. Then we could come crawling back and beg our family to let us crash with them until we got haircuts and jobs again. It sounds good to me, but he said no.

I guess that makes him the mature one.

Here We Go Again

So the other night hubby says to me, “You know, I’d really like a bigger den…and maybe a garage.”

Crap.

Looks like it’s time to go house hunting.

Let me explain my reluctance in looking for a house. I’m quite content in my current apartment; the neighbors are quiet, the grounds are well kept, my rent didn’t increase when we renewed our lease, and the neighborhood has everything I need without being overly-commercial. I’ve lived in plenty of apartments, but this is the nicest one so far.

Our first home was lovely; however, after buying it, we had a string of bad luck. My husband lost his job while we were in the process of moving out of our apartment and into the house we had just closed on days before. Within a year of buying the house, both my mother-in-law and son had passed away.

Rationally I know the house didn’t kill my family members or cause my husband to be “down-sized”. I don’t believe in bad luck; it was simply a series of unfortunate events (sorry Lemony Snicket). Random chance, not karma or bad luck, is the reason for my past troubles.

My rational mind knows these things, and yet the thought of looking for a new house gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Sure, I’d like to have a bigger den, a guest room and maybe a small yard, but I’m fine where I am. Apartments have their beneficial qualities, such as not having to fix anything yourself, and the ability to move on short notice. Try doing that with a house.

But the local housing market has settled down and interest rates are still fairly low, so this is probably as good a time as any to buy a house. It doesn’t hurt to look, and since we’re happy in this apartment, we’ll be less likely to rush into a less-than-stellar home purchase.

Here’s hoping for a series of fortunate events.

Conversation

Some days I think if it weren’t for our cats my husband and I would have nothing to talk about. After twenty one years of marriage, we’ve covered every subject; I know all of his stories and he knows all of mine. Are we doomed to spend the rest of our days talking about the weather and discussing how many times Kitty and Misty puked on the rug today?

Some nights he comes home from work and asks the cat how her day was and, based on her facial expression and body language, I will answer for her.

Hubby: How was your day, Misty?

Me: It was pretty good. I slept on this nice soft bed and then I ran into the living room for no apparent reason.

Hubby: Want to play with this string?

Me: No thanks, I’m resting. All that running wore me out.

How pathetic is that? And yes, he asks the cats about their day before he asks me about mine.

I know it’s natural to fall into comfortable silence with your spouse, but I wasn’t prepared to play second fiddle to my cats.

They should really warn you about this sort of thing before you get married.