1. My boss left for vacation last week and will be gone all next week. I am happy, happy, happy.
(Delete, delete, delete everything I was going to write about work. Not prudent.)
2. SH is gone for the long weekend to see his parents for a command performance that one hopes will prevent any drama at the holidays, although I am not holding my breath. They will still get angry and still think that he should spend the holidays with them and not with me, even though he has not done so - except for one Thanksgiving where we both just rolled our eyes and he took one for the team - since we married. They would put up with my accompanying SH to their home if they had to, but they would much rather have their Only Joy all to themselves. Anyhow, enough of them. Pah, pah, pah.
So I have solitude at work and solitude at home, which means a bacchanalia of doing what I want to do when I want to do it.
I love SH, but there are times I miss being single and being the Mistress of My Home, with nobody else to offer an opinion or have a way of doing something. I like doing the dishes my way and I like eating what I want to eat when I want to eat it. I am not good at compromise. I think it's just my personality, although getting married for the first time later in life after many years of living alone can't help the situation.
So here's what I have done this weekend that would make SH hyperventilate:
1. I have worn his favorite sweatshirt, the one from Summerfest 2006, with the collar that is wearing away. Yes, I have my own sweatshirt, but it has a hood and if I lie in bed to read while I am wearing my hooded sweatshirt, the hood bunches up under my neck and it's a wee bit uncomfortable.
2. I have worn my biteguard. I usually wear it only to sleep, but I like wearing it at other times because I clench my jaw all the time (See: Work) and grind my teeth and the biteguard helps with that. SH does not think it is particularly attractive. Can't imagine why.
3. I have cooked and cooked and cooked and left the dishes to do until later because I have been cooking. When SH was a bachelor, he ate a lot of crap. He had things like Hot Pockets in his freezer. He had almost no vegetables because he hates chopping things. When he did cook, he would make a steak, which does not use a lot of dishes. But when I cook, I make things that have ingredients and everyone knows that ingredients require dishes. SH seems to think that the function of a kitchen is to look like it is never used.
He also thinks that a kitchen is a place where one goes to read a newspaper without interruption. But I think that a kitchen is where food happens and if someone happens to be reading the paper while I'm cooking, well, that someone can keep me company. SH is torn because he likes eating good food - which was part of the deal when he married me, a woman who cooks - but he does not like mess, his office notwithstanding. And, if challenged on that, he will point out that his office has a lot of stuff (ie, junk, such as training manuals from his job for products that no longer exist and newsletters about things to do on the eastern shore of Lake Michigan in 2011) but it is all in neat stacks.
But it is all still junk. If he were dead, that would be the first place I would clean out, not just because I hate all that junk but because it's about the only part of this house that has junk. Any portion of the house under my control - the CF zone, which can be reached after escaping over the wall near Checkpoint Charlie - is tidy and spare and uncluttered. I have nothing to throw away.
After his office, I would go to the basement and throw away all the boxes of SH's that we moved into this house over five years ago and have not been opened since. If you can go five years without something, you don't need it.
Anyhow. I cooked. I made 23 jars of pear jam, caldo verde soup, roasted beets, roasted red pepper and goat cheese lasagne, charro beans, and cornmeal pear cake with rosemary glaze.
SH thinks that food just comes. He is wrong.