The last time my husband went out of town, he brought the kids back a coffee mug and a dish towel. I shit you not, those were his idea of appropriate gifts for a 1.5 and 3.5 year old. As I am clearly the better parent, I was determined to outdo him. (Not hard…)
In an effort to buy their love, I hit up every toystore within 15 miles of Princeton. By the end, my suitcase barely closed over to the mountain of tulle inside. Here is a picture of just the dress-up clothes:
The kids seemed overjoyed to see me when I got home. However, my warm, fuzzy feeling was gone before my butt hit the car seat. Their welcome message went like this, “MMMOOOMMMMYYYYY! Where are my presents”.
As the shine started to wear off the dress-up clothes, the kids still seemed overly excited to have me home. Could they really have missed me? Was it possible that I was more than a blip on the radar?
Of course not. I found out the real reason as soon as I went upstairs. This was my husband’s version of “doing laundry” during my five day absence:
My darling husband washed and dried exactly one load of clothes in five days. When I asked why half of the allegedly clean clothes were on the floor, he said, “Because you need to fold them.” There was another mountain of clothes next to the washing machine.
Now I knew the real reason why my kids were so happy to have me home. Addy was on Day 3 of the same pair of socks. When they walked off on their own, even she knew something wasn’t right. And the “clean” load of clothes upstairs…not so clean. He put the detergent in the fabric softener compartment and the entire load had to be rewashed.
5 loads of laundry later, all of the drawers are restocked. The kids have moved on to more recent presents (stickers…gift noted on Aunt Elena’s permanent record for later repayment). Giorgie pulled my hair last night to make sure I knew that the celebration of mommy is officially over. There is only one thing left to say:
“When is my next trip away?”