Coming Home

This weekend I was in Chicago for a work conference, and left my loving hubby home with the rugrats. When I got home, the laundry was up to the ceiling. (Dear hubby has the hang of stuffing the washer and dryer, but has yet to figure out that there is no Clean Laundry Fairy to fold, sort, and put away the dried clothes.) Dirty dishes on every gritty countertop. Dog dishes were empty.

But then, poor dear had had a busy weekend. Both kids had cherubic (albeit schmutzy) smiles, and he looked as though he had not slept in the last 48 hours. So I just smiled and gave him a hug.

It's a good thing I don't go away more often.

H.