Fun will be mandatory in week ahead

In the last seven weeks, Pete has been home once from his northern workplace for all of about a 30-hour stretch.
So when he shows up at the door later this evening for seven days off, well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going to be first on our “to do” list.
That is, of course, if we remember how.
Likely, after all this time of not seeing each other, “recall” won’t be a deciding factor as the “90-10” rule—normally implemented during a house move—takes a new, leading role in our love life (in other words, what usually took 90 seconds will be done in 10).
But that’s okay. By the middle of next week, we’ll be passion wizards again—and the music of what happens will be old hat and glorious.
And because the way to a man’s heart isn’t just through his stomach, putting Pete in his happy place will serve well the household work orders that have withstood the 1,176 hours he was away from home.
“All work and no play” might have made Jack a dull boy, but by the time Pete’s next shift rolls around, I’ll have tugged at his tool belt so much he’ll be scrambling to get back to the life of leisure he leads up north, where they have cooks and housekeepers.
There is no question that on the home front, I am a work horse and a systematic machine of the organized. I’ve been that way for as long as I can remember, and if I won the lottery tomorrow, I’d still spend at least three-quarters of my free time in constructive tasks.
There also is no doubt that I get a tremendous lot done while Pete is away at work. Whether I do so as a result of boredom or because I’m both buck and boss at the roost, I hesitate to conclude (though likely it’s the latter).
But Pete’s still in my court. He’s given the nod to just about any house decision or task-infested idea I’ve had while he’s been away—short of moving his guitar case out from under his side of the bed, where it continues to take up valuable space I could use for my stuff.
Circumstances, as I make them, leave little room for fun and games. I seem to think I have more important things to do.
In fact, I’ve spent so much time of late in remodel mode that when I have a question about maintenance of this old farmhouse, I’ve hired myself as the one whose job it is to have an opinion—and also an answer.
The challenge for me is letting go of being the “button-pusher” when Pete comes home after a long jaunt of work. He knows I know what I’m doing while he’s gone, but the path of a man who knows where he’s going when he gets home doesn’t need “Mrs. Know-It-All” insisting she knows better the direction he should take.
Unless of course, it’s to the bedroom—but then, I’ve never had to coax him in there like a scared dog. Pete was born in Italy and love and fun are his first priorities.
Yet as always, when he’s home, the important household work orders on my list will get done and a lot of others won’t. But let’s face it, who cares. What I look forward to the most is being reminded of what really matters.
All work and no Pete makes Beth a dull girl.
American poet Jack Gilbert once wrote, “The heart has the ability to experience so much—and we don’t have much time.”
I hope the next seven days drag on forever.

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