having the house to myself

Carl left for the airport to go to Salt Lake City at 5 AM this morning on business.  Even though this trip is only until Monday, we always go through the same routine (him) and emotions (me) whenever he leaves.  He usually waits till the night before to pack when he travels (without me), so there’s a sense of urgency and excitement as he flies around the house charging electronics and searching for pairs of socks.  I do what I can to help, like getting the largest suitcase known to man down from the attic.  He gives me a kiss at the crack of dawn, while I’m half asleep and then he’s off.

I’m at work all day today, so that partially occupies my thoughts, but when I get home tonight and forget that he won’t be coming through the door around 7:30 or 8 o’clock (tax season hours), my heart sinks.  The house is just so empty without him.  And I think the house misses him too in a hard-to-describe way.  It’s been said that a house is just four walls, and the people make the house a home.  I believe there is more to it than that, but it is so true.

All that said, I don’t wallow too long.  It just isn’t my personality.  My productivity coach self goes into high gear making plans for all the things that I will accomplish over the weekend, partly to keep myself busy but also because it is easier to get things done.  There are no interruptions except to make more coffee or talk to my mom on the phone, I don’t have to worry about disturbing him with my hammering (because when I am productive, a hammer is always involved!) while he’s doing quiet work and I don’t have to answer questions about why I am moving the furniture around again.

I am thankful that he doesn’t travel frequently (only a few times a year) and also thankful that he does so that I do get this time to myself in our home.

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