Daddy's Coming Home

I've said over and over that I can't wait for the time when Tom is in our new house full-time because at that point, he'll stop being a guest and just be home.

Right now, the girls act like monkeys when he's there. They run, they scream, they push him around like he's a big toy.

And he loves it. He really does. He chases them around the house, from the kitchen, through the living room, down the hall and back into the kitchen and they giggle and Olivia lets him catch her so he can carry her as they chase Alyssa, who will get far enough ahead of them so she can stop and wait to see if Tom's changes the route and waiting around the corner for her.

Honestly, I love that they all have so much fun. I do. And I hope that once he's just home instead of visiting the fun continues.

But we'll see.

And the time we'll get to see that is in three days because closing for the sell of the house in Huntington has been scheduled for Thursday. Thursday night, Tom will be HOME, in our only house, with me and the girls and it will be lovely.

It will be right.

Last night, he sat down on the couch with a sigh of relief and said, "I'll be so glad to not have to make that drive anymore."

And I smiled beautifically at him and said with sympathy, "I know. It's been tough, hasn't it?"

See, my New Year's resolution was to be kind. Kinder to myself, to my girls, to my husband.

And so, instead of getting up, going to the kitchen, getting a fork and coming back and stabbing in the eye with it, saying over and over, "Five months, you did it for five months, you ass!"

Instead of doing that, I smiled and agreed that it will be nice that he won't have to make that drive anymore.

But let me remind everyone (because I don't necessarily have to be kind here, right?) that I made that drive for eight years. Yes, EIGHT freaking years.

The first year I made it while increasingly pregnant. The second year, I made the drive with an infant who screamed the twenty minutes home every. single. day.

The third year, it got better, because Alyssa no longer screamed and she and I stopped going home every day.

But...five months people.

He's bitching and sighing in relief after five months.

Really?

But...I'm done with that. The kinder, more loving side of me says, "So what? We're both done making the drive and isn't that what really matters?"

And it is what matters.

He's coming home. And that's truly what matters.

Well, that and the fact that as of Thursday, we'll only have one mortgage again. Whew.