Truth is I haven’t been able to sit down and write about anything cohesively most of this week. It is assumed by many that as you get old(er) the season of life you are in will slow down – considerably – and you’ll find SO much time to do the things that you’ve always wanted, or newly want, to do. Well, you know what they say about assuming…
I love that man of mine, but what gives with his not wanting to make his own lunch?
“Honey, you have more time than I do to make a lunch before you go to work. Just make your own lunch.”
“I won’t make a lunch, but if you make it, I’ll eat it.”
I work days. He works nights. I get up at 4:20 a.m. with forty-minutes to shower, feed the cats, grab my gear and my coffee and go! So squeezing in the makings of a sandwich and fixings for another lunch, besides my own (which sometimes isn’t a go) is stressful. Small-time stressful — but stressful nonetheless.
Time is clearly on his side for lunch box duty.
I don’t get it. You’re either hungry or you’re not when lunchtime rolls around. Surely he is. After all, he never forgets to take the lunch I’ve made for him and he never brings the lunch box home still full.
He’s a curious fellow that man of mine.
So here it is Thursday and about the only accomplishment I can attest to this week is managing to make him lunch every.single. morning.
Sad, I tell you. Sad.