Return Triumphant
I wouldn't be sitting down to write this blog if the Man wasn't on base inprocessing, but since he is, and I have time, I might as well write.
I'm currently sitting in the recliner admiring the tulips and daffodils that are festooning our humble abode while wearing an apron that is absolutely covered in flour and biscuit dough. Can I just say, I love wearing aprons. It's like having a gigantic napkin that doesn't fall off your lap. I've spent the morning hanging out with Littles and prepping for lunch which will happen if the Man ever gets home. I have my doubts. But it's nice to be looking forward to him actually being home instead of just looking forward to a skype date.
The Man got in on Sunday, and from now on 28 March will be celebrated annually and exuberantly in the Friz household. It took the guys forever to get their bags, and since they had to go through customs, we (on the other side of the customs' doors) waited with increasing impatience. I got out my jitters by pushing the stroller back and forth ceaselessly and by tricking myself into thinking that the next time the doors open it was going to be him. Naturally, the Man, being the Man, was the very last one to come through the doors since he had to make sure everyone had their bags and no one was left behind. I love my husband, but sometimes I wish he wasn't so responsible and servant-hearted. I mean, come on. Be a little selfish, man! And when he finally made it through the doors, it seemed like there were dozens of people between me and him and half of them wanted to shake his hand. But then he was there, and we were hugging, and I was picking up Littles to show him to the Man, and I was trying not to cry (because tough girls don't, obviously), and it was pretty much mind blowing.
After all the gear had been loaded onto the buses and the Man was free to go, I realized that I had absolutely no clue how to get back to the parking garage, which was kind of entertaining. We wandered around BWI for a shameful amount of time before I finally manned up and asked for directions. And we drove home on the Baltimore-Washington and spring was finally worth being fully appreciated because he was home.
Anyway, since then it's just been us, and it's been grand. The Man is a great dad already, and I personally think Littles likes him better than me, but I guess I can deal with that. And evidently, Littles is fatter in person than he is in the pictures, but if that's the only thing I failed to communicate through email/skype/facebook/letters/packages, then I'm pretty proud of myself. And home is still home and the Man is still the Man even if there is a lot more baby paraphenalia strewn around and my husband is significantly skinnier than he was when he left.
On that note, I just got a text from the Man that he's leaving base, so I'm going to go put the meatloaf in the oven so that I can fatten him up again. Evidently I like my man rolly.
I'm currently sitting in the recliner admiring the tulips and daffodils that are festooning our humble abode while wearing an apron that is absolutely covered in flour and biscuit dough. Can I just say, I love wearing aprons. It's like having a gigantic napkin that doesn't fall off your lap. I've spent the morning hanging out with Littles and prepping for lunch which will happen if the Man ever gets home. I have my doubts. But it's nice to be looking forward to him actually being home instead of just looking forward to a skype date.
The Man got in on Sunday, and from now on 28 March will be celebrated annually and exuberantly in the Friz household. It took the guys forever to get their bags, and since they had to go through customs, we (on the other side of the customs' doors) waited with increasing impatience. I got out my jitters by pushing the stroller back and forth ceaselessly and by tricking myself into thinking that the next time the doors open it was going to be him. Naturally, the Man, being the Man, was the very last one to come through the doors since he had to make sure everyone had their bags and no one was left behind. I love my husband, but sometimes I wish he wasn't so responsible and servant-hearted. I mean, come on. Be a little selfish, man! And when he finally made it through the doors, it seemed like there were dozens of people between me and him and half of them wanted to shake his hand. But then he was there, and we were hugging, and I was picking up Littles to show him to the Man, and I was trying not to cry (because tough girls don't, obviously), and it was pretty much mind blowing.
After all the gear had been loaded onto the buses and the Man was free to go, I realized that I had absolutely no clue how to get back to the parking garage, which was kind of entertaining. We wandered around BWI for a shameful amount of time before I finally manned up and asked for directions. And we drove home on the Baltimore-Washington and spring was finally worth being fully appreciated because he was home.
Anyway, since then it's just been us, and it's been grand. The Man is a great dad already, and I personally think Littles likes him better than me, but I guess I can deal with that. And evidently, Littles is fatter in person than he is in the pictures, but if that's the only thing I failed to communicate through email/skype/facebook/letters/packages, then I'm pretty proud of myself. And home is still home and the Man is still the Man even if there is a lot more baby paraphenalia strewn around and my husband is significantly skinnier than he was when he left.
On that note, I just got a text from the Man that he's leaving base, so I'm going to go put the meatloaf in the oven so that I can fatten him up again. Evidently I like my man rolly.
