Husband at home

This is about a recent situation that has become a way of life. My husband lost his job (through no fault of his own) in December, and has become a fixture of the household, specifically in the kitchen, where he uses his laptop. For the first few weeks, in spite of the seriousness of our new situation, it was kind of fun. We both joined Facebook and sat together at the kitchen island "chatting" with friends and trading stories. He told me about different job possibilities he was considering applying for. We were bonding.

Six months later, I find myself wishing he would just get back to work! Any work! I make a salad. He asks for some for lunch for himself, too, but could I please put some leftover steak in it? I don't like steak in salad. But I do it. I am working hard on my Blackboard site for teaching, and he asks, innocently, "What else are you going to do today?" Later, "You should go to the gym. You can't just work all day."

The dishwasher gets filled and emptied at unusual times, and my schedule is thrown. But he's helping, isn't he? Can't I see that this is a good thing? I take every suggestion as a threat to my long-time standing role as the house maven.

Gratitude is a good thing. I'm grateful we're doing okay for now. I'm grateful that we still have a home and food on the table. I'm grateful we all have our health. The birds still sing. The squirrels jump up on the deck rails and look in the window at us and we laugh. Our poodles, Ginger and Bear, do what Ginger and Bear do, and we laugh some more. There is lightness here, too.

But I still am anxious for him to get back to work, and for us to get back to "normal"!

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