The day they left, I was ready for them to go.
I was sick, crabby, and tired.
My house was a wreck of little toys, big toys, and noisy “I wish the batteries would just die” toys.
I had fished socks out of the toilet that week, had my first “This is NOT a weapon speech,” and grounded the Little Lady from having books in her room.
I was ready for them to go.
Now, after a week of hearing their little voices through a cell phone — their laughter bouncing off the walls of their grandmother’s house — I’m . . .well . . . bored.
No one to cook for.
No one to clean up after.
No one to entertain.
My house is boring.