He’s coming home, he’s been gone since Tuesday.
When he called me an hour ago I shouted “WHAT?!” in his ear, because people were throwing balls at my head and there was urine on the floor. I’m nice like that.
So I’ll make him a cake. His favorite, only kind. It’s white Funfetti and at first I feel guilty about not making something more scratch-y and apron-y, but then I remember he doesn’t like anything else, and later I am grateful for cake mix because I almost forgot to put the water in, and when I do the mixer is flying and the water flies too, all over the place.
So he gets cake, and that’s something. I haven’t gone insane so there’s that. The pee pee is off of the floor, and that’s another thing. The boys are up past bedtime even though I was ready to clock out three hours ago, and that’s something too. They missed Daddy SO MUCH (so I’ve been told every day on the hour). When he comes home, Quinten has informed me that they will eat Pineapple.
It seems fortuitous, therefore, that I bought one yesterday.
I missed him. I’m tired and cranky and slightly crazy, and I’m wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that have remnants of tonight’s slap together dinner on them, and maybe this isn’t the most romantic homecoming. I just hope no one is screaming when he walks through the door…but I missed him and that’s that.
Tonight we shall eat cake…(I wish it was chocolate!)
Update: They MAULED him at the door, and ran around playing pirates afterwards. I sat on the couch.