Thursday, September 16, 2010
Sorry gang. I was in Germany this week, suffering through some fairly crippling jetlag, mixed with some fairly inedible Business Class food. You now have my official permission to punch me for complaining about Business Class.
I arrived home yesterday at 1pm, which felt like 34am. I swung open the door and waited for my family to cover me with their love. And waited. And waited.
But the house was empty.
My heart began to ache. Instead of a spastic 3 year old, an overly optimistic 9 month old, a lovely 30 something year old and a homosexual goldendoodle, I got a silent, yet slightly destroyed house.
I started to have a mini panic attack. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t watch TV. I couldn’t open a bottle of beer (we didn’t have any). I wandered around the house, dabbing my tears with wooden toy blocks and Star Wars guys. I really needed to see the family unit.
Suddenly, I saw our black WV pull up in front of the house. Diana began the ritual of extracting the boys from car seats. I ran out onto the porch and yelled, “Heyyyyyy you guys!”
Diana lit up and greeted me with a kiss. She handed me Luca, who smiled the greatest smile in the history of the world and said, “Dada.” Yeah, it was more of a baby babble “Dadadadadadadadadada.” But to me he was greeting me by name.
And then Elijah leapt out of the car. Diana said, “Look Eli! You dad is home from Germany!” I shouted, “Come here, Eli! Give me a hug!”
Eli shouted, “Daddy! Can I play wif your phone?”
2 out of 3 ain’t bad.
Grover didn’t arrive home until an hour or so later. His response to me being home was the usual uncontrollable humping.