My husband packed up his lysol wipes, his soap and his brand new machete this past Thursday, and left us to spend a long weekend in the woods with the boys. I will admit, I had my concerns about this trip. A dozen men left to their own devices and acting like….well…men seemed like a sure recipe for disaster. But he returned home safe and sound yesterday, not a scratch on him. Of course, the woodland boys’ manly code of silence has prevented him from sharing the lowdown on his 4-day adventure, though we’ve managed to squeeze a few details out of him. The highlight? Exploding pumpkins.
It’s probably best that I don’t hear anymore.
My little ladies and I had a full weekend of our own with friends and Army football games and Warrior lacrosse tournaments. We returned home late in the day yesterday, exhausted, cold and hungry, but Daddy’s car in the driveway immediately perked everyone up. His tent airing out in the backyard was just an added bonus. The delighted squeals of two little girls proved more challenging than 3 nights in a tent; tired and cranky Dad needed a night of rest before he could return their adoration.
Today was a new day. All of us well rested and slowly returning to our normal routine, we liked each other again. I noticed, though, that I could have easily slipped away for the day without anyone noticing. Dad was back and everyone had a story to share with him and everyone needed his undivided attention.
“I’m going to dinner alone with Daddy.”
“No! Dad is taking me to swim practice alone.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, that’s not fair.”
I could have easily slipped out the back door and nobody would have been any wiser, but I didn’t. I stayed the course and managed to convince everyone that we should eat dinner together – myself included – and share the sordid stories from our busy weekend.
The girls and I shared plenty. My husband stayed mum. I think I should probably be quite happy about that.