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I have failed as a wife.

Last night Bill came home from Houston. He’s been gone almost a week. I was so excited that he was home! He has been on Hurricane Watch 2008. His clients had requested his assistance, so first, he was sent off to New Orleans for Gustav, he was home for all of about four days, and then he was sent to Houston for Ike.

While he’s been gone, I’ve been dealing with the house—which looks like it was hit with a very isolated hurricane, otherwise known as a home remodel.

We have had the popcorn ceiling removed, a wall torn down, a door to the outside removed, drywall, more drywall (FYI: drywall dust NEVER leaves the house. I’m going to slowly asphyxiate in my sleep one night.), a new front door (sigh, more sawing=more dust), and the entire interior painted. A few months ago we had new carpet installed and had to move seven fully packed bookcases out of their various rooms. I swore I would never do that again. Never say never, right? When the painting started last week, we had to move all the furniture around, including the bookcases. They were pretty good about letting me know ahead of time which rooms they were going to do when, and they were great about moving everything out. The putting back part? Not so much.

I have spent the last week moving furniture from one side of the house to the other and back again. The master bedroom junk had to be carted back from the guest bathroom and the office crap had to be moved back from the kitchen, and so on. It’s like every day is moving day. And I HATE MOVING. We swore we’d never move again (thus, the remodel).

So…what the hell does this have to do with Bill and failing as his wife?

I spent the entire weekend—my weekend alone, the weekend I was going to get manicured, the weekend I wanted to go to the movies, the weekend I wanted to catch up on sleep and read a book—trying to organize the house and make it livable again. I had to vacuum and dust at least once an hour because the second I was done, I’d look and the dirt was all back. Same with the floor. If I never have to polish the hardwood floor again it will be too soon. All in anticipation of his return. I knew he was tired. I knew he had just lived through two major hurricanes in less than three weeks. I knew he just wanted to come home and fall into his own bed. The bed that I made up in freshly washed sheets.

Am I making my case for martyrdom here? I really did kill myself trying to put everything back by myself. I’m 4’11”, so I am a bit challenged with hanging things back on the walls, but I think I did a damn good job if I do say so myself.

So back to Bill.

Last night his plane landed at about the time I normally get off work. The one thing I needed to do was get some food. I wasn’t cooking much in all the chaos so I needed to stock up. The plan was to hit the grocery store on my way home so we’d have a nice dinner—at the very least, dinner wasn’t going to be the Corn Pops I’ve subsisted on most of the weekend. Of course, best laid plans, right? I ended up working about two and a half hours of overtime (I say “overtime” like I get paid to work late, which I don’t), which meant Bill got home before me to a semi-empty refrigerator. Semi-empty because there was some fresh fruit, milk and a few other goodies, but the Chinese food leftovers from before he left were still in there as was the deli turkey from two weeks ago.

By the time I got home, Bill wasn’t quite as happy to see me as I was to see him. He was so hurt and a bit disappointed that I didn’t go to the store because he had a long trip on not much more than peanuts and diet coke. It didn’t matter to him that I had to work late. I explained to him 372 different ways that I was planning to go to the store on my way home. He was having none of it.

I tried to listen patiently, I really did, but after about 15 minutes of this, I had enough. I did feel bad, but I explained in excruciating detail everything I have been doing around there for the past week. I let him know that I haven’t been sitting on my ass doing nothing.

We did call a truce last night. He apologized and said he was just cranky and tired. All was right in the world.

Until he brought it up again today.

When he knew he crossed the line, he asked: “You’re gonna write about this aren’t you?”

Me: “You bet your ass!”

Him: “Damn.”

With this blog, I will always have the last word.



6 Responses

  1. You know, come to think of it, I don’t remember your going to the market and filling MY fridge either while Bill was away. WTF???




  2. Ah sweet revenge, thy name is BLOG.

  3. Whoa. I was so surprised at his reaction… after everything you went through!

    But at least he apologized for being cranky – I can never get one like that from mine. In fact, mine told me last night, “If you’re not going to go to bed early, then you can’t complain about being sick.”

    Like he’s even HERE. As if I’ve given up on the house, the kids and work. Hmph. I’m still here, sick as a dog, doing everything I should be doing. And since I stole a nap earlier in the day, so did the 3 year old. Which meant he wasn’t going to go to bed earlier than 10:30pm. And since Hubz was in bed already, it’s not like I can turn in, not with the boy still awake.

    But he doesn’t get it. lol – another reason why we blog, right? 🙂

    And just to set things straight – you SO did not fail. No. Way.

    lol – *hugs*

  4. Men…I don’t know…I sure like being single. But I’m glad ya’ll worked it out

  5. The funny thing? Bill was home today dealing with a couple of the contractors and he realized just how hard it is and how much of a time suck it can be.

    I feel just an intsy-weensy bit vindicated!

  6. Ahh, he missed you! He just had to grumble around first. Aren’t men great?

    As someone who read all your tweets about the home reno, I can attest to all your hard work and headaches!

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