Away.

My husband is away on business. 

Eight years ago if he was away on business, he would come home to an apartment that was sparkly clean, candles lit on the table. His wife would don a pretty apron and some swanky music would be playing. We'd probably have some vino before dinner. 

Tonight when he returns, the scene will be a bit different.

The house will be, in a word, loved. 

There's some ant bait on the floor. I'd pick it up except that it is still wooing the last of the little buggers into their sugary death. The kitchen is in a state of perpetual use as evidenced by the sink's full belly of crusty plates. Most of the laundry is done (hallelujah!) but a few lone socks and washcloths are bound to stay on the floor. 

I would have done more yesterday to pick up the house, but I had a violent stomach virus that made me wonder for a half second if I was pregnant again. (*No and more no.) 

The dining room is quite a sight at the moment as well. There are packing boxes filled with foodstuffs and beach towels in anticipation for our beach week`. My five year old has been pawing through the boxes, examining their contents and suddenly "needs" whatever is in them. 

"Take my temperature, Mom." She found the thermometer. 

"Can I have this blanket, Mom?" She already has laid it on the ground to look at all the colors. 

"Where are my goggles?"

It's all I can do to stay packed. 

This is a funny time of married life. Between taking care of self and the little ones, I look foggily across the dinner table and see... the man I married. He's the man I desperately want to talk to but can't right now because it would involve spelling v-e-r-y   l-o-n-g   words to keep our little Morgan from understanding. He's the man who I don't see twelve hours a day (on good days) but will always take my phone call at work and at least pretend to be interested. He's a gem.

Our worlds are quite different of late:

He's up to his eyeballs in spreadsheets. 

I'm up to my elbows in bedsheets.

He wines and dines others so much that he's totally cool with cereal for dinner.

I'd cry for a Chicken Cordon Bleu.

And as much as I'd love to present him with a perfectly coiffed wife and house upon his arrival home, I know that the man I married then still wants the same thing that he wants now.

A little peace. A smile. Some laughs. Movies in bed. And probably some other things that you think you know (smirk) but you really don't. 

So come on home, babe. I'll wait to hear your car pull in the garage before I pour the milk in your Cheerios.