Less than 50 days until husband starts his ROTL (that’s Release On Temporary Licence to you and me). There’s a brilliant list of do’s and don’t’s on Prisoner Ben’s blog, so I won’t go into them, but rather than getting excited, I’m getting blue. I am still not alone at home, still have my nephew here, but he is supposed to be finding somewhere else to live by the weekend. Interesting. He has nowhere on the cards yet, so I think a deadline is due. It seems cruel of me, but it’s part of my problem. I have realised I want to start preparing the house for my husband’s return, I’m not a freaky house cleaner, but I want it just nice and without the associated smells of another man around. Ben smokes, his odour lingers and floats up the stairs into my bedroom and down the stairs into my kitchen. I want my house back, our house back. So I’ll deal with that later.
Another reason for my gloom is another milestone in my life. I dealt with the humorous fact that rather than spending my 10th wedding anniversary in a log built shack over a blue sea (plus sun) I spent it at work whilst husband went to his first County Court hearing. Ok, I got over that. But now, soon, it’s my birthday, and a significant one. I kind of thought I’d be spending that milestone with the one I love. Let’s amend that, I’d rather hoped I’d be spending that milestone with the one I love at home. Luckily for me (!) my birthday falls on a Saturday, so I could go visiting armed with a picture of a cake and some candles – haven’t seen that candles are not allowed, ladders are a no-no, but candles? Perhaps I could get on a chair an announce my big day, why not, kids do it, once you get past 60 you regularly tell people how old you are – what about us middle agers? Yes, I almost feel slightly better. I bought myself a birthday card today to send inside to husband so he can post it back to me – a nice card, not too expensive, but with some nice words I think I’ll appreciate. I did think of buying myself a present, but really, really want to save my pennies to get an upstairs bathroom.
So rather than feel sorry for myself, let me end with a message for any other women in a similar situation, or men for that matter, you have yourself a happy birthday even if you are on your own. You don’t need anyone else to mark the day of your birth – your mother would be nice, but that’s a luxury the older you get is not always guaranteed (mine’s gone) – you sit yourself down and have a nice cup of tea and just think, sod it, I’ll be a year older next year and that one might be better!