Himself has now been out of town for two weeks and two days straight. Man, this solo parenting thing is getting old. He's gone for work and is no happier about being away than we are to have him away, which is a small consolation, but several thousand miles and three time zones is a long way from home any way you slice it.
On the bright side, everyone has gotten to pretty much all of their scheduled activities in his absence (Thing One will have to miss one soccer practice tomorrow because I have a Board of Education meeting, but I'm quite sure life will go on.) Everyone is clean, fed, reasonably happy and alive, which is saying something after 16 straight days of maternal refereeing of the inevitable interkid squabbles.
He'll be home sometime this week, but we don't know when yet. Wednesday happens to be our 14th anniversary, but luckily for him I was raised in a family with an often-traveling father and am fully accustomed to the concept of what we used to call the "moveable feast." If Dad was out of town for whatever the occasion was, we'd just celebrate it whenever he got back and the world never came to an end because of it.
That is not to say, however, that I wouldn't take it as a cosmic thank-you from the karma gods if he WERE to somehow manage to get home on Wednesday. And in the meantime, I'll be the one hanging by my fingernails from the ceiling by one hand, large glass of wine in the other!