Waiting Times

You do a lot of waiting as a house husband. This morning I am waiting for the guys to come back and do some more work on the bedroom ceiling. Then I am going to wait for them to do the work, and - I guess - wait for them to tell me when they are coming back again. (I am not dissing them. They are nice guys, and for Brits they work staggeringly fast too.)

Since yesterday, my sister has convinced me to set up a housewifenot blog for her. So I am also waiting to see if she writes anything on it. My wife thought I had done it for her, which caused some brief mild confusion. Have also managed to convince my wife not to tell her mother about this blog. I love my mother in law, but I am not sure I want her to read about how I am failing to be a house husband. And she is computered up too. She googled me the night her daughter/my future wife told her about our first date.

I googled 'house husband'. There is some bloke writing his house husband diaries in Australia - "Fighter of Evil, Maker of Lunches, & Infringer of Copyrights". His stuff is mostly about his kids. And there are serious academic articles discussing whether or not the house husband is a myth or a reality. And discussion groups: "He runs the house and has visibly increased in confidence since he took over!"; "He enjoys it most days!". Far too many exclamation marks if you ask me. No search results for househusbandnot, yet.

I am now worried because the ceiling guys are late. I am sitting here like a mother waiting for her daughter to come back from her first disco, imagining terrible things that are stopping them from getting here. But you can't do anything when you are waiting for someone, other than wonder when they are going to get here. As soon as I start some house husbanding, they will get here. And I can't put any music on in case they arrive and don't like it. And I can't get changed because we keep all our clothes in a walk in wardrobe which has the front door buzzer right next to it. And it freaks me out if it goes off when I am in the wardrobe. And I can't make a sandwich because I will have to offer them one if they get here before I have finished it. It's like hell here today.

Incidentally, when I post these things there is an automatic time display for when I posted them. But whoever or whatever generates these time displays is about nine hours behind me here in London. So I am writing this at just before 10 am. Just thought you should know in case you thought I had really lost it, and was waiting for the ceiling guys at midnight. (Timing issue now sorted thanks to kind person who told me how to do it.)