Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Time Sense

It was a typical day- my husband came home from work, we ran errands, and I began cooking dinner. For an undefined reason everything came together smoothly this time around, besides the 15 minutes of subjection to a rather foul stench leaking through the closed windows from outside (I never thought something could smell rotten and sour at the same time… I was so very wrong. It was suggested that fish food being created is the cause). Wasn't incredibly pleased with the smell, but was glad to know it wasn’t coming from somewhere inside our house.

Dinner took about an hour from prep to finish, eating took another 45 minutes, I managed to spill tea on the desk and yet miss drenching the electronics that cover 90% of it (thank you Lord!), the dishes were finished, and we were more or less settled in for the night.

For the first time since Ash came home, I looked at the clock.

It was 6:30pm.

Usually we’re lucky if we’ve eaten and finished our evening chores by 8:00pm.

This setting of the sun at five really does a number on my sense of time… well, that and my better half coming home two and a half hours early. Neither of us is quite sure what to do now; our bodies want to be tired, but it’s more of an artificial production of perceived lateness as opposed to actual weariness. I mean, it’s not even 7 o’clock yet!

It’s strange not to have daylight savings time.

It’s delightful to have an entire evening (literally!) free to do whatever strikes our fancy.

I could get used to this.

2 comments:

Kyle said...

If you think the fish smell bad, just wait until you have kids! It isn't uncommon in the slightest for us to come across a half-drank bottle/sippy cup of milk or juice 3-5 days after we gave it to one of the girls. They just drink them and then get distracted, set them down, and forget them in some obscure area that isn't normally searched (I think Dakota actually *hides* them intentionally, but I don't have any proof of that). There have been a couple that have simply been thrown out because we didn't want to deal with cleaning them (us American's are obviously incredibly spoiled)! So, hurray, the world only gets more smelly as time goes on!
With two kids, we don't get those nice evenings to ourselves too often, so enjoy them while they last. Had I found myself in your situation, I probably would have just gone to bed and been happy for the extra sleep... I think I may be getting boring in my old age. Perhaps one day soon I'll find myself talking like Grandpa Simpson:

It was nineteen-dickity-six, we had to say 'dickity' because the Kaiser had stolen our word 'twenty.' I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickity-six miles. Afterwards, I took the fairy to Shelbyville because I needed a new heel for my shoe. So I decided to go to Morganville which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time, and set off. Now to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on them. Give me five bees for a quarter you'd say. It was going to cost me two and a half dickey cents - the numbers 10 and 30 haden't been invented yet - to get my new heel in Morganville, but the important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. Of course, they didn't have white onions because of the war, so the only thing you could get was those big yellow ones. So anyhow....

Yup, that'll be me in just a few more years, probably when I reach dickity-nine...

Heather said...

I also would enjoy an evening to myself and Kyle (with or without the girls) free of chores and cleaning and things that have to be done. Though I'm going to miss the things to be done and my family to hang out with in less than a week as I am moving in 3 days...ahhhhh.

Anyway Kyle is not as old as he seems he is just dickity-seven right now. There is no way that he will be that senile by the time he reaches dickity-nine...well hopefully not that senile.