On a whim, we decided to meet Daddy out for supper tonight. Daddy works 9 hours most days in the summer and commutes 2.5 hours round trip.
At "Currans" restaurant tonight (yes, a real live restaurant with servers who take your order and clear your dishes!), Elliott decided to start practicing his vocalizations. "Ahhhhhh!" he shouted. "AhhhhHHHHHhhhhhAAAAAhhhhhhaaaaaHHHHH." Then he ate a crayon. And threw every kind of food, utensil and napkin on the floor as I scrambled to catch them and move all items not nailed down out of his reach. Then his brother, who had to poop and didn't realize it, started bouncing around in his booster seat, which flipped over, causing him to fly head-first toward the floor. Matt caught him by the leg just before his head would have cracked on the floor.
So, does Matt ask me to come home and help put the boys to bed? No. He says, "Honey, why don't I take the kids home in the van. You take my car, run the errands you've been wanting to get done. But first, just sit here and relax a bit. Order a piece of pie. I'll work on bedtime."
And so I did. Custard pie with whipped cream. And the last bit of coffee from my sweetie's mug. And it was heavenly. And when I got home, the baby was asleep, his brother was drowsy & full of hugs & kisses for his mommy, and I got to work on this dumb old blog of mine.
And that is reason #1,492 that I love my husband.
