The Man Cave

My house is becoming a “man cave”. Kayla (one of my “strays” who lived with us for years) moved out and got her own place a couple of years ago. She still comes over pretty regularly and of course she’s still part of the family, but she’s growing up and has her own life. Then my daughter moved out last month. The last of the feminine influence around here – aside from me – was lost. I have only boys now.

I come home to football gear (and the special aroma that goes with it), guitars and video games strewn around the living room. I have to argue over the TV, fighting for my right to watch “Top Chef” or “Flipping Out” instead of the continuous stream of sports and skateboarding that’s become the background noise in my house. Frankly, even when I do win the battle and get to watch one of my own TV shows, it isn’t the same having to watch them alone. There’s no one here who cares much to share my fascination with Paula Deen or wants to watch a chick flick with me.

There is a picture on the wall by my front door that is slightly off-center from where it should be. Kayla hung it there. I need to move it over about half an inch, but I can’t seem to get the motivation to bother since no one really cares about the pictures on my walls. I want someone to say, “Oh yes, that looks really cute right there!” when I find a new little vintage knick-knack from a yard sale (I love old grandma-looking stuff). The boys don’t care. If it were up to them, I’d hang Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix posters all over the living room. Arrrrgghh!

I know what I need to do. Well, one thing I need to do, anyway (I’m sure there are a lot more things). I need to get baking. Baking relieves stress for me, and at the same time it makes me feel all domestic and “mom-ish”. I like it, and it’s one thing the boys can appreciate. What boy doesn’t like to wolf down cookies? Right? I’m just waiting for the temperatures here in Phoenix to drop at least below 100 degrees, though. I can’t afford to heat up the house by using the oven.

Ah, well. I will get over this, or I will find myself a new “stray” who is a girl, or I will just adapt. I’ve always adapted, but sometimes I do it kicking and screaming. Ha ha. This might be one of those times.

But hey – At least I have help here who can move heavy stuff and do yard work, right? Right. Well, maybe not so much without a lot of nagging (I hate nagging). Typical guys they are. Gotta love ‘em, but gotta kick ‘em in the pants. Guess I just need to get my kickin’ boots on and my oven mits at the same time, and I’ll feel back to my old self. If nothing else, I am at least determined to get a nice back yard out of this!