About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Thursday, February 09, 2012

Home, home I’m deranged

I’m reasonably sure that I’ve used that title before, and it doesn’t really fit how I’m feeling, but I wanted to use it. So I did.

Work is going [suspiciously?] well this week. Attorney B’s secretary is out on vacation, and I’m getting both attorneys’ mail read pretty much on schedule, and their mail out, and my inbox whittled down a little, and the to-do’s checked off as they crop up.

My attorney has been working remotely for much of the week. Sick child, workers at his home, and the usual assortment of depositions. Which means that he will be bringing me a raft of dictation tapes when he returns to the office this morning. But Attorney B will be out, dealing with workmen at his home, and that should keep things fairly calm. I have three new suits that need to be answered on Monday, two for my attorney and one for Attorney B, so we know what I will be doing today. I am just hoping that my PRT (annual performance review) does not get sandwiched in there somewhere.

I am making slow but steady progress on the ruana. I joke about how Beloved is cutting into my knitting time. He reminded me, lovingly, that I am cutting into his reading time. We spend a lot of our evenings just sitting and talking, watching cooking shows, or doing stuff at church or with the family.

The twins’ birthday is tomorrow, so there will be a tribal feast at his firstborn’s new home, which I have yet to see. Like Secondborn’s, it is the largest venue and best suited for when this half of the family gets together. Can’t wait!

I spent half an hour or more yesterday, getting Beloved on my health insurance, which I thought I had done two weeks ago. I had to haul in the big guns from HR, as there was some sort of glitch that prevented my completing the process on my own. I am reasonably tech-savvy. Maybe I should say intermittently tech-savvy. But when I called my HMO to inquire about Beloved’s insurance card, they told me he wasn’t on the system. He is now. And in another 2-3 weeks we can call and get his PCP entered into the system. We can keep our respective PCP’s, both of whom work for the same local physician group, just in different offices. Mine is in Arlington. His is in Richardson. I would drive halfway across Texas to see mine.

Plumber is supposed to come today, rescheduled from yesterday. And next week Lorelai goes into the shop for maintenance and then her safety inspection. On Saturday we are putting one another on our bank accounts: yay for Saturday banking! And then I can deal with Social Security, and we can work on getting the cars co-titled (it is too a word; I just made it up).

This is the part where I log off and hit the shower. Beloved is leaping up to make a good, old-fashioned breakfast for me, as today is my long day. One of his sisters is flying in tonight, and tomorrow they and his mom tackle some issues with her healthcare providers.

I am so thankful to be married to a man who is kind, competent pretty much all across the board, and just a joy to be around.

Even if he is inordinately fond of the snooze alarm, which tends to set my teeth on edge. (He snickered when I read that to him.)

3 comments:

still here and never going back said...

I'm with your husband on the snooze alarm and my husband shares your view. I'm a new reader to your blog but am so happy for you as you open this chapter in your life.
Debra

Jenni said...

I don't mind the snooze alarm as long as that hand zaps out to quiet it immediately. I have been known to hit it myself a few times. But if I have to come in from the other room because I can hear the alarm and he hasn't responded, it usually gets loud!

AlisonH said...

I'm still looking for the alarm for deaf people that makes your pillow jump up and down while you scrape yourself off the ceiling (or me, anyway).