Friday, January 27, 2012

business travel

This past week, I was on a business trip to southern Florida.


Once I stepped out of the airport and in to a beautiful blue day, I suddenly missed palm trees and balmy breezes very much. Of course, I made the mistake of telling my husband that and he's now trying to move our family to Santa Barbara. While it hasn't been that cold, he's decided he misses wearing flip flops and slathering our children with sunscreen 360 days a year.

On day two of my trip, Charlie sent me a text message with the following picture of Elizabeth.


Apparently, she'd asked her father to pull her hair back in a bow and he said, "Sorry, I don't know how to do that." She gave him a quizzical look and asked, "What do you mean, 'You don't know how to do that?'"

Charlie replied, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really don't know how to pull your hair back in a bow. That's in your mother's department." According to my husband, she looked at him like he'd sprung two heads and stammered, "But? I ... I .... I .... I don't understand. You're an ADULT. Right?"

On day three, Charlie sent me a text message that read, "Stop fighting. Stop fighting. Stop fighting. STOP FIGHTING. OH MY GOD, STOP FIGHTING!"

Later in the day he sent me a text message that read, "Jenny, YOUR CHILDREN are driving me INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE." He called me that night to tell me he was feeling overwhelmed. He'd had a Cub Scout meeting that night and although he'd cleaned the house while the kids were in school, they came home and "disturbed" his perfect order. He needed to tidy up and finish pulling things out for his meeting, so he asked the kids to walk the dog.

Now, he's been asking the kids to help with the dog, but their idea of walking him is to take him outside and drag him around the yard before dragging him back in to the house - where he promptly poops down the entire hallway. Wouldn't you know, that's exactly what happened, seconds before he had Tiger Cubs (and their parents) arrive at our house for the den meeting.

"Please don't leave me, again," my husband pleaded.

On day four, Charlie sent me a picture of the children, gathered around the table, working on their homework. It's truly an exercise in extreme patience to have three seven-year-olds sit down and do things of an academic nature after being in school all day, so I was impressed.


Until ten minutes later, when he sent me this picture.


I arrived home, today, just after a torrential downpour swept through the area. When I walked in the door, I noticed that one of the children's winter coats and backpacks was still outside on the front steps. When I picked them up, they were dripping with water, literally SOAKED.

My husband didn't immediately notice the saturated items in my hand, when he threw his arms around me and hugged with all of his might. When he finally stepped back and wiped away what I think were tears of joy and relief, he stared in astonishment at the items in my hand and asked, "Wow, where'd you find that? I've been looking for those things since Wednesday!"

I'm supposed to go away again, next month.

Maybe I shouldn't.