So I was thinking the other day that it's really too bad for my husband that he married someone who loves to write as opposed to someone who, say, loves to cook.
This was after he came home from picking my son up at a friend's house and both my son and my husband told me how great the friend's house smelled and how the mom was cooking some kind of soup with leeks and why don't I ever cook something that smells like that.
This was a mom who loves to cook as opposed to write, and in her house, the whole family benefits (daily) from her talents. AND they probably get to spend time together in the kitchen, as opposed to mom/wife saying from behind a door 'Just a few more minutes! Please!'
At my house, sometimes my husband gets home and there's not even the thought of dinner on the table. Or, I tell him, again, that we're having Leftover Night (yay us!). Or I call him and ask him if he can pick up a pizza. That's what it's like being married to a writer. Or, at least, to this one.
And then sometimes after we eat I say I need to work a little and then he finds me sitting on the couch staring at the wall and he says, I thought you had to work, and I don't even have the nerve to tell him that that's exactly what I'm doing. I just try harder to look busier.
And then one day he calls from work and says (very patiently), 'Hey, did you happen to register the cars yet...because I just got a ticket.' (Well, I meant to send in the registration but I was in the middle of that revision....)
I just think that if you're not a writer, it is probably hard being married to one. Or, at least, to this one. But he tries so hard to be supportive of that part of me. There should be a day for that. Spouses of Writers Day. I'll even cook something for it.