Media Guy – my husband and the father of my two children – is away on a business trip all week. Not only do I get the bed to myself, but this means options. Not just the possibility of hanging with my galpals – although some of that is definitely in order and will no doubt involve plenty of alcohol; but bonding opportunities with my daughter, Muse/artist-in-residence. She is truly the most awesome kind of roomie. With the token male away, the house becomes a beehive teeming with estrogen; a space where Muse can work on her art and I can try and get some writing done, uninterrupted.
Yesterday she asked me to go and buy “art stuff” with her. We lugged home a sizeable chunk of terracotta which, at 20 lbs, weighed about as much as a small child. Following which I went for a run with my galpal Marie, who is also my editor. Then while Muse and I polished off take-out salad from Carls’ Jr for dinner, I dashed back and forth gathering ingredients for a pie I promised I’d bake. I finished past midnight. By 2am, Muse was busy working on a paper comparing Voltaire’s Candide to the movie Being There; and I helped (a lot) by making sure she wasn’t dozing off. In and out of sleep until 4am, neither of us got any pie until teatime today.
But I am utterly amazed that I had this wonderful productive day that, with the exception of the terracotta baby, did not involve shopping, catching up on accumulated episodes of Fringe, or consuming any kind of alcoholic beverage. Some of my very-married girlfriends have asked how I cope with a husband who travels so much. Easy: you make a girl baby, and then wait seventeen years.