Treading water with ankle weights
Last night, I dramatically declared I was “taking it back,” “it” being our evenings, which because of Jason’s completely unpredictable work schedule, either span endlessly before us like the view from a water tower, or else shut us down in the middle of our fun like John Candy in National Lampoon’s Vacation: “Night’s over. Moose out front should’ve toldja.”
At work, both of us are the last cog in the wheel, so to speak. Which means while everyone else dillies and dallies on projects, we get them thrown at us like anvils into our carefully balanced workflow, with no regard for whether we’re eating lunch, attempting to leave work for the evening or trying to have A LIFE. Meanwhile, everyone else has done their part, never mind that they’re thrusting impossible deadlines on us simply because they want to slip out of work early to have margaritas with their friends.
It’s frustrating, this total loss of control, and Jason has it a lot worse. I get home before him and do the daily little chores: open the mail, feed the cats and fish, tidy up the house. But the one thing I can’t do is start dinner because I have no idea when he’ll be home. And neither will he. And because he only knows the minute he is literally leaving the premises, I get only a 10-minute head start.
I dream of cooking made-from-scratch meals: hearty stews, roasts or full chickens, like a 50s housewife, even though during an argument once, I yelled that I didn’t appreciate being treated like one (I was exaggerating, as usual). As it is, we usually eat around 7:00 and too starved to wait, make meals of convenience.
And from then on, our nights shrink exponentially, like frying bacon. After the dishes are washed and we head downstairs to relax, it’s almost 8:00 and despair moves in for the kill. We normally start getting ready for bed around 9:30 and, as you might imagine, this timespan of “free time” is unacceptable to us.
So last night, I decided I was going to go to bed at 10:00, even though I apparently need 17 hours of sleep a night in order to create the dark circles under my eyes every morning.
But that extra time made a HUGE difference. We were able to talk, vent a little about work, play cribbage, relax and just generally feel in control of something for once, even if we were just puppet masters over 30 little minutes.
Dance, half hour, dance!
I hate it when I get home late and then it feels like we have about 15 mintues to cram everything in. I applaud your “take the night back.”
Also, have you considered embracing the slow cooker? You could do all sorts of exciting and delicious things that would be good no matter if he got home at 5pm or 8pm. I’m just annoyingly giving advice your probably already aware of
Comment by Flibberty — February 28, 2008 @ 3:16 pm
Flibberty, we have thought about the slow cooker. We use it a lot on the weekends because we are home and we’re both afraid of it burning our house down.
But it might be time to let go of our fear and just do it.
Comment by Shauna — February 28, 2008 @ 3:22 pm
Funny, I thought of the slow cooker too, but I am a little cautious about leaving anything heating during the day while I am gone. Because, I don’t know… it could spontaneously combust or something.
Comment by My Buddy Mimi — February 28, 2008 @ 3:26 pm
We have similar issues too. I go home and the basic way it works is that Torsten calls me when he has left the office (NOT when he thinks he’s about to but when he is actually ON THE STREET) and I start preparing dinner. And also, I have a new job now that has allowed me an extra hour of sleep in the morning and that has made the biggest difference in the length and quality of our evenings.
I feel you, is my point.
Comment by Jess — February 28, 2008 @ 3:37 pm
I feel this way too, and I get home at like 5:15. We go to bed at 9 though (SHUT IT).
I heard once that slow cookers only use as much energy as a light bulb. So if you are okay leaving THOSE on, you should be okay with the CrockPot. I don’t know. Could be urban legend, but I’m not going to look because it’s 4:02 and I leave at 4:20. Um not to rub it in. (TOO LATE).
Comment by Tessie — February 28, 2008 @ 4:03 pm
We used to be that way when Homer had a job that required him to take a train to the big city. I never knew what train he would be on. At least when I did know, I’d have about an hour to play with. It’s great that 30 minutes made such a difference!
Comment by LoriD — February 28, 2008 @ 4:05 pm
We feel the exact same way! And with both of us trying to study (A. with grad classes, me with the Never-ending and Poorly-written Thesis) it is terrible.
Having dinner ready makes all the difference. I am not afraid of burning the house down. I may or may not actually daydream about the house burning down. (I can’t wait to move!)
Good for you for taking back your evenings! Make those thirty minutes YOURS.
Comment by Artemisia — February 28, 2008 @ 4:43 pm