...when a husband spends a week away.
One: you don't talk about such things on a blog if you are paranoid, and I am.
Two: when husbands stay on the 63rd floor, their cell phones don't work because the towers don't reach that high. (who knew?)
Three: apparently when you are staying on the 63rd floor you can look out your window and see helicopters flying beneath you. (yes, I live a sheltered life in the sticks)
Four: he will meet people that make you wish you had a child addicted to a pacifier.
Five: Sure, he might stay out with the guys until 10 on a normal night,and you'll leave all the windows open, but you will put your home into lockdown at 3:40, as soon as the kids are home, just because he won't be back for four more days.
Six: you don't have so many dishes. That is because you don't cook. Because although you only have one less person, you don't want to face the "eat it whether you like it or not" discussion alone. Macaroni and cheese for a week doesn't kill your typically healthy kid.
Seven: You might think that big old bed will feel empty. It won't. It will still fill up with kids who miss Daddy. And they are too big to carry back to their beds, so you let them stay.
Eight: You will be able to declutter those random drawers because you aren't so worried about getting the living room picked up. Or so I told myself. I'm not sure I did any better on any of them.
Well, I thought the cell phone and helicopter factoids were interesting. And the Pacimal.