Well, Husband’s out of town for another business trip, leaving the rest of Team
WestEnders to hold down the proverbial fort. He had the nerve to pseudo-whine
about the fact that it was going to be “120
degrees in San Antonio this week!” (Yeah, he might have been exaggerating…I
checked, and it was ONLY supposed to hit 96…the
big baby…) but the way it looks from where I’m
standing (metaphorically speaking) he’s getting a great deal. I mean, he’ll have his own hotel room all to himself…yummy meals (that someone else cooks for him)…no laundry…let’s face it: it’s pretty much MY idea of Nirvana. Oh,
sure, he has to work a little bit,
but the whole thing still sounds pretty doggone fabulous to me (except for maybe the blazing temps, but they have air
conditioning in the Southwest, so it’s all
good…)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch—um “home”—we’re muddling
along on our own. School’s out, and soccer is in hiatus for a while, so right
now our schedule is actually the least
chaotic it ever gets. Of course, I do
have to show up at the office Monday through Thursday--and with the teeny little speedbump known as “Riley’s
broken leg” this means I asked Derek to stay with his brother every day until I
return in the afternoon. The last thing we need is our already-wounded dude
falling down, or slipping…or any number of dire accidents a mother can imagine befalling
her child when she’s not there to keep a watchful eye on…stuff.
Other than that, it’s more or less business as usual around here…except that when the Man of the House
is away, I get stuck doing things that are usually classified as waaaaay
outside my job description. Such as: unclogging
a toilet. Trust me, this is automatically
Husband’s chore…Every. Single. Time.
Yes, I know I’m perfectly capable of wielding a plunger….I
just refuse…on principle…or whatever. Then there’s the occasional…insect issue. Last time Husband wasn’t
around, I had to deal with a 3 Bug Night—and
trust me when I tell you, chasing...stomping on…and disposing of many-legged creatures is NOT my forte. (The process
involves a great deal of…squealing…I’m
not gonna lie.)
We are trying
diligently to do our part to rack up some behind-the-wheel
time for Derek, since Husband left his car with us for this very reason when he
departed. Thus after Derek spent the first, oh, 20 hours or so in a vehicle
with his father, it’s now my turn to
experience the…thrill?...that is Teenage Driving. And I have to say, it’s
mostly been good. Besides, of course,
the aforementioned gentle reminders to watch his speed. And once when he was approaching a traffic light that had turned yellow,
and I advised him to stop, but he
opted to go through it anyway, and it
was most DEFINITELY red by that point. “I thought I had more time,” he
protested when I kind of said, “I told you so.” Which led to a very
short-but-pointed lecture: “When someone who’s been doing this for 30 YEARS offers
you advice, you’d best listen. (Did you catch the implied “or else”? Hopefully
he did, too…)
Oh, and that one last thing: in Chapel Hill there are
certain crosswalks, not at
intersections, that have their own
signals pedestrians can activate when they want to stop traffic and safely meander
to the other side. When someone pushes the button, lights start blinking on the
bright yellow caution signs at eye level on either side of the street. Apparently, Derek had never encountered
this phenomenon, since he blew right
through the crosswalk, with the walkers looking nervously on from the curb,
but thankfully waiting for the non-yielding car to pass, and me anxiously going
“Stop stop STOP…never mind.”
(Siiiighhhh…chalk that one up to a Learning
Experience…)
All in all, I like to think we run a fairly tight ship
around Casa WestEnders, even when half of the Management is absent. However, there
is one thing that is noticeably different: Husband typically cooks dinner for the 3 male carnivores,
saving me from a task that I don’t enjoy very much. But when he’s gone, the food
prep falls to me…which is fine, in
the short-term. I always make sure to serve breakfast
one night, which the boys love, but Husband doesn’t. One evening is a planned “takeout” meal, so no one has to plan or
concoct a menu.
And often, one night is a standard and easy choice…like
pasta, for example. This time, in an
attempt to make something I could actually, you know, EAT on my very strict
diet, I decided to try gluten-free
noodles made of brown rice. They
boil exactly the same…they appear very similar to whole wheat when finished…and we were going to slather them with homemade pesto anyway, so who’d be the
wiser? Um…that would be Derek…who
came into the kitchen before his bowl had been sauced, peered at the penne and
exclaimed, very loudly and on one breath(doing his most awesome “picky toddler” impression)
“Heywhat’sthis? This doesn’t look like when Dad
makes it! Why is it different? I FEAR
CHANGE!
Oh. Good. Grief. I might
have smacked him with a dish towel…and warned him to “put a sock in it, son”.
(One of Husband’s favorite expressions…it seemed appropriate…) As he sat down
at the table, his fake hysterics concluded and a big grin on his face, he had
one parting shot, “Dad better hurry up
and come back from Texas…before you kill
me!” Ahhh….with any luck we’ll be able to avoid that, as his father does, in fact, return tomorrow…in time
for dinner…which will once again become
NOT MY PROBLEM. As for tonight, we’re headed out for our daily constitutional—taking the longest
possible route I can figure out, to Whole
Foods, to raid their plethora of café
selections. Hopefully stopping
for all red lights, and watching carefully
for people on foot. Wish us luck…
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