Yes, for the first time in recent (and not-sorecent) memory, I'm home alone. Hubby left the middle of last week for a car race 14 hours away over the weekend (he'll be back tonight or tomorrow), and I dropped the kids off a couple hours away with my parents for a camping trip. So I'm with just the fish (that's one fish, for anyone keeping count).
I've learned a few things while I'm home alone, both about myself and about my surroundings.
I don't actually scream when I'm startled/scared. I first realized this years ago, when I lived alone, but I wasn't sure if it was still accurate. Usually, if I encounter a spider or snake - both of which I've encountered during this solitary time at home - I call for someone to take care of it. Or at the very least, organize a posse, like having the kids watch it while I go for killing implements.
For my spider exposure this weekend, it was a small (thankfully) wolf spider that was running across the open foyer floor. I merely uttered, "Oh!" and turned to get toilet paper and raise the toilet seat. He appeared to have failed the swimming lessons, so I flushed him.
The snake was outside, and did inspire me to change my route. For the first one, I mean. The first snake was under the deck, and I chose to go the long way around. The second snake was slithering through the grass and seemed decidedly more afraid of me than I was of him. So we went our separate ways.
I am no longer a late sleeper. I thought it was the kids waking me at 7, 7:30 or 8 (I realize this is sleeping in for some people, but not us). Each morning I was alone, the sun woke me around 7. What a disappointment.
I am truly a homebody. Even the idea of better food has not lured me from the house. Or does that just mean I'm too cheap to spend money on food for myself? Either way, the result is the same. Other than a quick errand to mail some things that had to go out and pick up prescriptions, I've been home. I've eaten several Stouffer's frozen pizzas, a chicken pot pie, fish sticks and tator tots, and leftover soup from dinner last week.
Syrup never goes away. Ever. I've washed the counters in the kitchen each time I've cooked. Out of habit, I've cleaned up after myself after every meal. And yet two days in, I leaned against the counter above the dishwasher, and my hand encountered a sticky spot. There's no confusing a syrupy, sticky spot with anything else. I've washed that counter several times, and yet the syrup continues to thwart my efforts.
Overall, I know myself and my surroundings pretty well. I am pretty good company for myself. I enjoy a little time to myself, even if I do waste it cleaning things. I have watched a couple Netflix movies that I doubt the rest of my family would appreciate, but I kind of miss them too. I've focused on finding the bright side of my peace and solitude before they start coming back tonight, tomorrow and Wednesday.