I don’t know why, but my house is only 62 degrees warm right now. And the thermostat told me to call a number, so I called it, left a message, and they haven’t called me back. And it’s 4 degrees out. And really really windy.
So we’re all dressed in layers. And we made homemade soft pretzels. And we’re baking this afternoon. And we may all give each other pedicures in the warm footbath (the boys will love it!).
And if worse comes to worse, we’ll hook up the bluray in the bedroom and watch StarTrek from under the blankies in the big bed.
Last night, it snowed, so I shovelled. Koby even helped me break up the ice hump at the end of the driveway, so it’s really easy to get in and out now.
The whole time I was shovelling, it was still snowing. No one else was out but me for a long time. It was quiet and still and I felt like the only person on earth. And all I could think about was Hubby getting home. I wanted to make it so nice for him since he’s been under terrible stress at work.
I made chicken cacciatore. The house smelled so good! And I had washed and vacuumed all the floors. The house looked so good! And I shovelled every inch of the driveway, so Hubby would have no trouble getting in. No other tableau could have been so welcoming.
But when he came home, Hubby parked three blocks away, so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting the car up the hill in the morning. And he only ate a little of the dinner, since he had already eaten with an agent. And he left early this morning, so I didn’t get to see him.
I felt bad, but I know Hubby feels worse. I’ll just shut up and keep doing these things, because I know he appreciates the effort, even if he doesn’t eat my lovingly made food or park in my freshly shovelled driveway.
Sometimes it is just the thought that counts.