Too Much Time On My Hands

It was quiet around my house last week. Gary was in Virginia for work, and Logan was at summer camp. Which left just me and the dog; a situation that had the dog routinely going to check bedrooms and doors to see where everybody was.

I don’t necessarily mind being alone. Gary’s work schedule is such that I am alone a lot, especially when Logan is in school. The difference is they eventually come home.

Last week, Gary was gone for six days and Logan was gone for five days. I had big plans of getting a lot of things done with all of that free time. Closets could be organized, drawers could be cleaned out, cabinets could be streamlined. Clutter could be banished once again, with no one there to see what was going to the curb.

I accomplished....pretty much none of that. I slept, a lot. I’m still trying to catch up from some of my Mayo madness. I went shopping with my Mom one day, and did normal routine stuff that I would do every other day.

The one thing I did differently was what I chose to eat. My guys could eat meat and nothing but meat happily for the rest of their lives. I could eat fruit and vegetables and nothing but that happily for the rest of my life. We compromise on our menu. They eat veggies, grudgingly, and I cook meat for them but end up not eating my portion. They are suspicious of any veggies they haven’t already tried, and aren’t into experimenting in the kitchen.

I love to experiment, and love almost every type of fruit and vegetable. I hate brussel sprouts and cauliflower. Other than that, bring it on. This week, without the guys, I got to eat the food they are particulary opposed to. I know could cook it for myself anytime and sometimes I do. But usually, it just isn’t worth the trouble.

The dog, who enthusiastically samples anything we give him, occasionally questions my judgement by sniffing my offering and then walking away. Once he sniffed, then backed away in fear. Logan thought that ought to tell me something. When the dog that has no problem eating all manner of objects, including things that aren't food, has enough sense to back away; maybe I shouldn’t eat it either.

My kitchen was crowded with mushrooms and artichokes and broccoli and strawberries and canteloupe and all manner of good things last week; including the ingredients to make quiche; something Logan refers to as "egg pie."

I cooked my way through the week, waiting on my guys to come home. They didn’t complain about the what that gross stuff was, and weren’t there to make remarks about the foreign things I was eating. I couldn’t threaten to make them eat it if they didn’t pipe down.

It was fun for about three days. Half the fun of cooking the things they deem disgusting is hearing them moan and groan about it, and the very occasional times that they actually like something they didn’t think they would. I have the pleasure of knowing they have expanded their limited horizon just a little.

My guys are home now, and all is well with the universe again. I got my food fix in. Gary got his business taken care, and Logan got his fun taken care of. We are back to our version of normal, which is not normal at all. It works for us, and that’s all that matters.