Non Disaster

Typically, when I am out of town, my calls to Diana go through a fairly set cycle. On the first couple calls, everything is hunky dory. Kids awesome. House awesome. Dog Awesome.

By about call 5, cracks start to show. Kids aren’t sleeping. House not clean. Dog poop in the basement.

And towards the end, I cross my fingers hoping not to get THAT call. The curt, exhausted, “The house is on fire. A hobo lives in our basement. Grover is currently chewing my leg and Luca is chewing my arm and Elijah is chewing my face. Come home now or do not come home at all.”

But for some reason, THAT call never happened on this last trip. There was an eerie sense of happiness that I imagined was a result of well behaved kids or a sudden switch in Diana’s stance on illegal substances.

I’d call and hold the phone away from my ear and wince and she’d talk in an all too cheery voice, “Things are great. Luca slept until 7:30, Eli hasn’t punched anyone and Grover is finishing up the dishes.”

I’m honest enough to admit, this disappointed me. There’s a part of me that liked it when the house went to crap. It made me feel unimportant that I wasn’t, like I keep telling myself, the only thing keeping the family together.

When I arrived home Saturday, I hoped Diana’s positive would prove to be an elaborate lie and at the very least, they’d all be crying.

But the moment I opened the door, I saw the house was immaculate. There were beautiful hand drawn “Welcome Home Dada” signs everywhere. The children were dressed in non-destroyed clothing and greeted me like completely un-feral beasts.

“Hello father. Welcome home. We missed you ever so much. May we take your top coat?”

Okay, that’s a lie. They did freak out and screamed with glee and Grover body slammed Luca. But to my disappointment, there was not one single hobo living in our basement.

p.s. Today’s photo is of their newest evening activity, “Window Naked Crazies.” Our neighbors love us.