If you’re on your own – HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.

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!

I love my husband but….

…..should I be standing by him?

I was travelling to work today, usually listen to Radio 4, but decided to put some music on.  Listening to Sia, Breathe Me (I do recommend it, thoroughly nice track and beautiful singer).  Breathe me includes the lines “hold me, wrap me up” and I burst into tears.  Not done that for a while and I can’t blame it on the lack of tablets.  It got me to thinking….. why did the words and sentiments behind “wrap me up” have such an effect on me?  I think it’s because it’s what i’d always wanted in line, sad to say, someone to wrap me up, to look after me.  And what have I got?  Apologies to my husband who, when he gets out may read this but I doubt it,

I always wanted a partner who could add something to my life, someone who would take care of me, didn’t want kids, I’m selfish, I just wanted a protective arm around me and someone to fight my battles for me.  I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I’m lazy.  Those who know me know that I’m more than capable of fighting my own battles, but I idolised the idea of someone doing that for me.  And here I am, doing everything for myself.

This ties in with a blog I read about why prisoner’s wives stand by their men and I admit It’s a question that bugged me before “all the evil” and bugs me to this day.  Why?  Surely the dynamics have changed in our relationship now, things will never be the same.  I stood by my husband when he was at his lowest, suicidal ebb, I’m heard hearted I know, but not that hard.  And now, now that we are on an even footing and I have taken up the reigns of running the household, are not the tables turned?

I might as well go off on my own but I still love him for all his wrong doing.  I am not, however, one of those women (and I don’t judge) who stick by a repeat offender.  I just know what my husband did, even though it went on for years, will not happen again.  So we will have to struggle together.

There is more to married life than staying at home bringing up kids, if you have them and making the dinner and I like to think that I join that band of women who have travelled to the very precipice of married life and are clinging on to that small,spindly tree that’s always there, helpfully sticking out just over the edge of the canyon.

Exploding hearing aids

You may not know this, and I feel it my solemn duty to warn you.  According to the prison officer in charge of the Open Prison visit day today, I could not give my husband (a prisoner in an open prison I emphasize) his hearing aid batteries (as I have done on previous occasions) because, according to this educated chap…….. they are explosives.

I feel it my duty to warn all users of hearing aids that they are putting themselves at significant risk of an explosion to the head if they persist in wearing hearing aids.

I suppose some prison officers get a sense of power making up their own personal rules.  Anyway, husband spoke to the governor who strolled in for a personal episode of Prisoner’s Wives and eventually got permission to take them with him.  I now worry for his safety.

To remind me

Today I found, in my spare bedroom, where my nephew is sleeping, the wrapping of a chocolate bar (Lindt) that he bought me for Christmas.  Funny that.  Thought I’d eaten the the third bar of Green and Black’s when I found it gone.  Thought there was no way the nephew would stoop that low, surely, to go up into my bedroom and take my chocolate.  How wrong was I.

I’ve also found his cannabis pipe in the outhouse.  I suspect he’d tell me he’s taken up pipe smoking.  This goes along with the sweet smell I smelt in his room when I arrived home Thursday night.  He told me he’d accidentally lit up a cigarette in the house.  Silly Aunty Carol believed him.

I’ve also discovered that far from going on the internet every day to look at the various web sites, his browsing history shows a clear and dedicated interest in Facebook.  Only a handful of web site that might have jobs have been visited.

And he has a drawer full of x 20 cv’s that someone kindly printed for him.  He told me he had handed them all out.

Never, mind, 31st March Ben. Then you are out of my home.