Homecomings

When I was newly married and my husband came home from a deployment, it was a Big Deal. Well, firstly because he was gone for over 10 of our first 12 months of marriage, so when he showed up at all, it was cause for serious celebre, if ya know what I mean. But really, the week before I thought he would be home, it was a flurry of activity: cleaning the floors, scrubbing the shower, washing every fabric thing in the house, brushing the cat, painting my nails, deciding what to wear when he first walked in the door, getting food to put in the fridge, and so on.

Right.

We all know I SUCK at the housewifing. I'm fully aware of it, and make no apologies. Some people rock at that sort of thing. For me, notsomuch. I hate it. My priorities lie elsewhere.

So, husband is coming home around 11 tonight. I have a craft project exploding all over the dining room table. Knitting on the coffee table. Other knitting on the side table. And more knitting on the floor of the office. Next to a pile of cds and my half-finished sock zombie. The dog destroyed a bath towel, and there is dead towel carnage all over the living room carpet. Alongside the limp, muddy bit of rawhide bone he dug up from his hidey hole in the yard and dragged in the house late last night. My guess is he likes them aged like kimchi. I have a pile of clean laundry on the bed, which incidentally is where cat #2 vomited just moments ago and I have yet to clean it up. Cat #1 upended a bag of kitty food in the guest bathroom, and there are kitty food bits all over in there. A neighbor dropped off all her leftover pantry items yesterday as they are moving this week, and there are jars and bottles covering the kitchen counters. I honestly don't remember when I last had a shower, and haven't shaved my legs in over a week. Might be two. I found a dessicated earthworm carcass just inside the back door. Not sure what happened there. Poor guy didn't make it out, though. The trash can overfloweth and the recycling bin has taken on a life of its own.

I live 5 minutes from the airport. I have just under 5 hours. I could probably do something about most of this. Well, I'd likely not get my nails painted or either cats or the dog brushed, but I could no doubt scrape the puke off the bed, put the laundry away, clean up the kitchen and reign in my crafty messes. Possibly even vacuum up the towel remains. Perhaps a shower.

But will I????

I think I am being sabotaged. It defies logic that all 3 of my fuzzy animal friends choose this day to fling food about with gleeful abandon, projectile vomit where I sleep, and sling muddy bone and towel bits around the house like all these things are going outta style. Sigh.

So here I sit, detached in a somewhat zen-like state, watching my house fall apart around me, and I wonder what exactly happened to my nice orderly life? The life in which I had time to paint my nails and pick out pretty clothes to please my husband. Wait, maybe I mean the life in which I gave a crap about those things.

Ehh, whatever. Guess I'll sit here until I decide which to tackle first: cat puke or muddy dog bone mess.