I just completed NaNoWriMo for the second time.

Excuse me? Well. NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing in a Month challenge. Every November the NanNoWriMos issue a challenge to any and all: Write 50,000 words in the month of November.

I did it in 2004. I started it in 2005 and 2006 but didn't finish. In November 2007 I wrote 50,149 words. On my novel project. I also blogged a few times (yes, I did so, go look... see?), wrote 4 newspaper articles, a book review, and a magazine article. So altogether, my November total is closer to 52,000 words. And if I add in emails... um... 55,000?

Wow. No wonder I'm tired.

I told hubby today, as I headed down the homestretch, next week is all about movies and books and cleaning house and decorating. I don't plan to write more than a grocery list. I'm dying to see Enchanted and to read a few new books I picked up in the last week.

I'm free! But I'm free and 50,000 words richer.

I'll take it.

Hubby gave me some tough love last week. Basically, he repeated what he had already told me (more than once or twice), said what I already knew, and he felt better.

Me? Not so much.

I'm over it now, but for a couple of days I was hurt and withdrawn.

What is that spurs normally sane and rational people to state the obvious to others who didn't ask for their help?

Because we love them and hope that by saying it one more time, they will get it.

Only one problem: it rarely works.

Bummer, though. Wouldn't life be great if you could walk by a relative who was wondering whether to marry the loser, and all you had to do was whisper, "Don't do it. You'll be sorry." And they listened.

Communication problems would cease. Countries would live at peace. We'd never argue about having Chinese or Mexican for dinner.

Life would be good.

There's a saying I've seen emblazoned on T-shirts, pillows, and decorative signs:

If Mama Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy... And If Daddy Ain't Happy - Ain't Nobody Cares.

I remember when the kids were small, the days I was out of patience and ready to set them at the side of the road with a suitcase, Daddy was full of forbearance and love. On the days Daddy couldn't manage a minute without snapping at them, I was the one able to handle the whining.

It's the curious nature of a marriage partnership. Each of us are in 100%, but there's still only 100% in the marriage. 1 wife + 1 husband = 1 couple = 1 marriage.

And we still fall into those patterns even though we're supposedly empty nesters. When one of us is tired of yard work, the other gets a yen for dirty hands. When one has scrubbed the last toilet for this month, the other is willing to take over.

I'm sure there's a corporate term for it, synergy or teamwork.

I call it family.

I'm still not sure if the above evaluation condemns the one who said it (oh all right, it was me) or the object under consideration.

If it's something to eat or drink, I think it means I had very low expectations and this surpassed it. Or it could mean I had high expectations and didn't think the menu could live up to it and it actually came closer that I thought it would.

If it's a weekend of friends and family in our home, it means having 9 people in 1400 square feet with one shower and one DVR, and living to tell about it.

Either way, it's a win-win.

We did just act as tour guides and hosts of a weekend of debauchery and partying. If driving a 15 passenger van around the county all day, going to dinner, then ending at our house for a bonfire and marshmallow roasting that was pretty much over by eight o'clock qualifies as a party weekend, then we succeeded.

All the friends seemed to enjoy it. I did. Hubby did.

We're all getting a little older and gnarled and there was a teensy bit of complaint about climbing into the rear seat of the van. But the final evaluation of one friend was that she's too old to party with the Padgetts any more.

Since the Padgetts were in bed watching college football by ten pm (the team played in Hawaii, so it was only 7 pm there, thank you for asking), anyone who can't keep up with us must be really old. Like... like, fifty, at least. Or almost. Maybe fifty in February.

I'll be fifty soon, too. Well, in 16 months or so. I hope it's not as bad as I think it will be.