Jason is in Chicago for the rest of the week. A last-minute business trip. I am not a fan of the last-minute business trip.
I am a fan of my husband coming home at a reasonable hour, preferably right before the hour when I lose my flipping mind over being cooped up in the house all day with only a toddler for company, a toddler who is pulling out the measuring cups and spoons for the millionth time and yeah, it was cute this morning but it is NOT CUTE ANYMORE ARGH STOP WHINING STOP CLIMBING ON ME STOP HEAD BUTTING ME WITH YOUR GIGANTIC HEAD ARGH OH LOOK IT'S DADDY HOW WAS YOUR DAY, DEAR? WHAT? SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU I AM ALREADY UPSTAIRS CURLED UP IN MY CLOSET AND HAVING A NICE CONVERSATION WITH MY SHOES.
(Yes. He really does sort them out like that.)
The god's honest truth is that by 6 pm or thereabouts, my patience is pretty much tapped out. Noah's running around like a spaz, hollering for DADA DADA DADA DADA and there are chicken nuggets in the microwave that I know he won't eat and I'm rubbing my temples while spooning applesauce into a Dora bowl that I KNOW will end up upside down on top of the dog who is YAP YAP YAP YAPPING because OMG, THERE'S SOMEONE ON THE SIDEWALK ACROSS THE STREET and the cat is underfoot begging for food that I KNOW he'll sniff and turn up his nose at, and then the dog will eat it and puke it up in our bedroom later and all I need in the world is for Jason to walk through the front door and...I don't know. He doesn't really DO anything, except maybe temporarily distract me from my very mean thoughts about a matching set of dog/cat/toddler crates.
That, and he speaks English.
(This photo should be accompanied by the sweet EH EH EH EH EH sounds of a tantrum windup.)
(Beware the edible-looking feet: they are filthy because I don't bathe my child much sometimes.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to retrieve all the parts to my KitchenAid mixer from in between the couch cushions while Noah naps, and then perhaps I should just go ahead and stick some Pinot Grigio in the fridge.