Homebody

I’ve become a homebody. I spend most of my days in my house writing or editing or working on something having to do with my books. While I venture out for errands or the occasional lunch with friends, in general, the confines of my house have become my world. It’s comforting and quiet, interspersed with the occasional spouting of noise from the teenager.

This summer, though, it will be even quieter. Both girls will be away for the entirety. That hasn’t happened in a couple of years, so needless to say, my husband and I are looking forward to it. Usually, he announces to the world that he and I are going “to party like it’s 1998”—as in, do all the fun kinds of things we did before we had kids.

Well, if you take a look at the planner calendar he created for us to fill up with all of the “fun, 1998 things” we’re going to do...I think it might be more like 2038. Because while we have a few “dinners with friends” on there, for the most part, it’s chores and organizing and things that no pre-kid couple would ever want to do.

In other words, I think we’re doing it wrong. 

Now, when he reads this, he’s going to come rushing over and argue that I’m the one who put most of those boring things on the calendar, so to preempt that—HE’S RIGHT*. I DID. But it had to be done and we’ve been trying to get to some of these things forever. And hey, the couple that cleans the garage together stays together, right?

I’m hoping we find plenty of time to get out and do fun things. And if not, I suspect that by the time summer is over, I’ll be dying to get out of my house and maybe I’ll even venture to Starbucks for the day. 

*This admittance that he’s right is a one-time only aberration. It should not be mistaken to mean that he’s “always” right. And while things put up on the Internet are there forever, I now never have to make any other public admittance of this, since I’ve done so already. J