Missing

With less than twenty-four hours before Jen and Max get back, I am starting to go a little crazy. I’m sitting here on the couch at eleven pm without my pants (because there are only so many hours in a day – where are my Playex 18-Hour Pants?). I’m watching SportsCenter and surfing after putting a filing cabinet together, changing all the burned out lightbulbs on the second floor, and cleaning up so the house is ready for them to come home tomorrow.

It’s been weird, being alone for two weeks. I’ve been too sick to actually do anything fun. I was going to hang out with the guys from work and go to Happy Hour. Instead, I slept, watched a lot of movies, coughed up many-colored lucky charms, and worked my butt off. Not as hard as some, as there are a couple people who worked on that huge project who were at work for three days straight, which I am in awe of. I just pulled six 12 hours days in two weeks with a raging sinus infection and some weird stomach flu.

Yesterday, this lady I work with was at my desk talking about search reporting stuff (an extremely intoxicating topic… OH MY the fun involved in reporting). We were testing something out, so I searched for “Lawver” and voila, Max’s page came up. We went and looked at pictures, because she wanted to see what he looked like. It was hard not to cry when looking at him. I don’t think she caught on or even noticed. He is beautiful in those pictures: happy and excited looking at all the animals. I miss him more than I’ve ever missed anything.

And then there’s Jen. Once you’ve learned to sleep in the bed with someone else, sleeping in an empty bed is tough. Sleeping in an empty house is even harder. The novelty of going to the bathroom with the door open and walking around the house late at night with the lights on and TV on loud gets old after a couple days. I’d much rather have a munchkin running around pulling on hands pleading for the pullee to follow him on whatever adventure comes next. I’d rather have a wife who holds my hand on the couch and laughs at my jokes.

Come on home guys, I cleaned up and everything. I even promise I’ll wear pants at the airport.

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