Menfolk and those of tender sensibilities can move along to something else. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Once a month, after the PMS crunchies, I get tired, hungry, and not so much cranky-want-to-shoot-something as just…eh…leave me alone to my movies and books and salt. Like this morning. It’s a coffee pot sort of day because crawling back in the bed is enormously appealing only it’s cool and foggy and some weeding is required. Since I despise sweating, there is this intense Puritanical urge to take advantage of the cool fog, but it’s battling with the pampered housewife who’d rather sip coffee and sit in a chair. O the dilemna.
Terry’s heading to N. Alabama this afternoon. He has an 8 hour drive to his parents, where FIL had heart surgery Tuesday and MIL needs some help. He’s taking the entire week from work to go up there and assist. And yes, a little teeny bit of the very selfish part of me is annoyed because the time off will mean no vacation for us, but the bigger, more grownup part recognizes his need to be with his parents, and I spent a week with my parents after Dad had surgery, and 2 weeks with my grandmother a couple of years ago, etc. SO 98% of me is fine, and I’ll silence the other 2% with a harsh reminder that it’s time to wear big girl panties.
MIL has a load ahead of her. Complete dietary changes, to things they just don’t normally eat, cooked in ways she just never has cooked. She’s a Southern Fried Cook, fried potatoes and eggs for breakfast, grilled cheese for lunch (with lots of butter), lots of salt on everything. She’s been told “fish 4 times a week. No salt. No cholesterol” Fish for them=fried catfish, hushpuppies, coleslaw with lots of mayo. I know how difficult changing your food habits can be. Changing 70 years worth of them, I can barely imagine. She’s smart, tho, and a motivated sort of person, so I am confident she’ll figure it out. How willing*he* is to do it all, I do not know. He is accustomed to his morning fried baloney biscuit with the old men at the Chat’n’Chew, and will have to either give it up or…something. I am not sure how one eats a grilled chicken on whole wheat toast, if one has only ever had fried fat on lardbuns with butter.
So, for the next week, I am the only adult in the house. Just #4 and me, with tacos.