Yes, that's why I haven't blogged.
Pathetic, huh?
It gets worse. Logically speaking, I should have died while he was away. In the first place, I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West. I snapped at my kids, grumbled about the simplest chores, and generally griped about life in general. I was a dragon and anyone who dared cross me had better watch out for my flaming breath of doom. On the other hand, I became a delicate maiden in distress, drowning in my own tears at the slightest provocation and weeping without end for the loss of my one true love.
And, well, we all know that Wicked Witch + water = DEATH, right?
The only conclusion I can draw, then, is that I actually didn't blog because I was dead and only managed to keep the house together and the kids alive and fed through some strange sort of out-of-body experience.
Which leads me to the fact that I must, once again, be a zombie.
How else could I be writing this?
...Okay, obviously I'm still not completely recovered from my traumatic separation from DB.
Let's face it. I love my husband, and I lean on him. He is my friend, my confidant, and my maid service when it hurts too much to stand. Just being able to reach out and touch him is literally priceless to me. No matter how many fantastic gifts he brought back (and there were several, not to mention the spa day he talked his parents into sponsoring so I could have a mini-vacation while they were all gone) I would frankly rather have him. I didn't think it would be such a hard thing, being alone with the kiddies for awhile. After all, I do much of the housework, cooking, and childcare anyway while he's at work. It wouldn't be that much of a shift, minus the fact that I would have my smell-good bed warmer at night. I was right; it wasn't "that much."
It was huge.
Above all else, I just wanted him.
And I would much rather find out how indispensable he is while he takes a jaunt to Hawaii than after he was gone forever.
So thank you, Lord, for giving me the chance to be grateful for the relationship I have with my husband. I promise I'll try my best to remember it the next time I feel like force-feeding him his own foot (which does end up in his mouth on occasion) or whining because he just had to work yessssss-terday, so why did he agree to work todaaaaaaaaaay? I will even remember not to be vengeful and connive him into doing twice his share of the work because he got a vacation while I manned the front lines (which was, as a side note, my choice). I just love him, and I'm glad he's home.
