My husband and I will celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary the 15th of this month. The most depressing part of that statement is the fact that I work with people who have barely been alive that long. That's what makes me feel old. Not having 22 and 21-year-old daughters. Not being 47. No, it's the fact that I am old enough to be the mother of half the office and have been married long enough to prove it.
Hubs is out of the country, galavanting over in Germany at some insanely boring semiconductor conference. (At least it would be to me). Thus, the aforementioned "being single". He's been gone since last Friday and doesn't get back until this Friday. It's starting to get really boring around here.
As we were basically too poor to do much of anything exciting like travel when we were younger (say until we were 40), we haven't spent that much time apart. Hubs travels 2 or 3 times a year for this job but this is the longest he's been gone. The funny part? The conference runs March 1-3. He left February 25. I had the opportunity to talk to the President of the company yesterday and he was curious why Hubs was going to be in Germany for a week. Turns out, it's quite a bit cheaper to fly on a Friday. About $800 cheaper. Add in the additional cost of a hotel room for 4 extra days and the company still came out $400 ahead.
This weekend, the girls visited so I wasn't alone. (If you can call it alone with three needy canines). But last night, the solitary existence was a bit much. It doesn't usually bother me when he leaves on business but last night as I went to bed I almost broke down and let the dogs get into bed with me.
We've been told by the trainer that letting them sleep with us is a big no-no. And they've taken the news surprisingly well. They no longer even try to get in bed. Hubs loves not having a dog pushing him to the edge of the bed or adding their not inconsiderable body heat to his. Me? I didn't usually mind the dogs, but I conceded that it would be difficult to be seen as the alpha pair from the bottom of the dog pile.
The only real problem with this change of sleeping arrangements comes in the form of Aibhne. She is a morning dog. In the mornings, she wakes up way too freaking perky, way too freaking early. Since she's sleeping on the floor now, she wakes up and stays up at our first movement. God forbid I have to go to the bathroom at 5 am. To placate her whining, I let her get in bed. It gets us another half hour of sleep, generally. Sometimes more if it's obscenely early, like this morning.
Actually, I suspect she wakes up and realizes she's hungry. We've put her on a diet and lately have been trying to ensure that Myrddin eats all of his food. So she's no longer able to finish his. Which means, of course, that she's dying.
And always, always hungry. Even after she eats. She's really convincing, too. She has been known to trick one of us into feeding her a second time because she's so convincing. Lord knows, the crinkle of any plastic bag brings her running. She begs unashamedly. It's really hard to resist when she lays her head in your lap and stares up at you with those big brown eyes - "Mommy, look at me. I'm wasting away. So hungry." Yep. She's a pro.
If I could just get her to sleep in tomorrow morning. Maybe I should slip her a dramamine. Right now, of course, she's out cold. As soon as I finish this post, she'll pop up and be her usual dopey self. It's like having a perpetual 2-year-old in the house.