I don't know about you, but when my husband leaves for the occasional night away, a different atmosphere descends upon the household.
I wouldn't call it elation, exactly. . . . it's more like a small sense of empowerment. (Don't expect to reach this level of self-awareness overnight people, it's taken 22 years of marriage to get here.) And, knowing this, there are just a few customs and rituals I observe to mark the occasion.
The morning he is due to leave, the first thing I do is make the bed like an army colonel so that I will enjoy a night's sleep in the most un-rumpled of beds known to womankind. Next, I clear all evidence of married life away from the bathroom vanity countertop, marking my territory like a hussy of a female cat This space is mine. . . all mine! The final thing I do is make a big pan of macaroni and cheese and pig out 'til my heart's content. (Please note: I am in the kitchen this time - not in my car.)
But lately another little annoying tradition has been creeping in. . .
Despite the fact that I spend my energy getting rid of all signs of co-habitation, I am suddenly struck by an overwhelming desire to bribe the dog to come upstairs to my room (a level of the house that is off-limits to her on any other day) to sleep at the foot of my bed. Now maybe I'm afraid of intruders . . maybe it's the pure challenge of coaxing her up the stairs one step at a time . . . or maybe its a repressed sense of - well - repression, and this is my way of going "wild" and acting out in the craziest way I know how.
Whatever it is, my youngest daughter must feel it too. For, just last evening she, too, brought some"thing" upstairs.
Which thing? you might ask.
Thing 1.
Yes, it was innocent. And Yes, I was across the hall in my own bedroom with my door open writing my blog post. And, Yes. . . Yes. . . Yes!!! he was driving her to her friend's house and she needed to gather a few items from her room before she left. . . but why did that thing need to come upstairs???? (It's not the thing's fault really. I think she bribed him upstairs with doggie treats!)
I don't think a thing has ever been on that level of our house before!
Aren't things required to stay downstairs while your daughter does her last-minute prep work before going out???
When I asked her this morning about how she thought her father would have reacted, she said I never would have done that if Dad were home!
I guess you're forgiven, for I know exactly how you feel, sweetheart. . .
