The First Week

It’s been one week since we kissed Chris goodbye at the airport and sent him on his way to Kabul.  For him, a lot has changed.  For us, life has returned to routine.  Back to school, back to cleaning, back to the grocery store.  I’ve had worse weeks.

Chris arrived safely in Kabul on Wednesday afternoon, weary and old.  He’d left us a spry man of thirty-two, but his first ever international flight truly aged him, and he stepped onto the tarmac a year older and a lot more wrinkled—in his clothes, at least—to face his shortest birthday ever.  Only eight hours remained of his thirty-third birthday, and I’m pretty sure he slept five of them.  Ever since then, he’s been going to bed at 8 p.m., complaining of back pain, having trouble breathing and yelling at the neighborhood cats.  If he starts drooling, I might not let him come back home.  Of course, he blames his newfound geriatric condition on jet lag, a government issued mattress, high elevation and poor air quality, but that doesn’t explain away the cat insults.

Nonetheless, we sent him this video to help him celebrate, and because we know how much he hates wearing pants.  Pantsless solidarity—keeping families together since 2013.

 


Here on the home front, things have been pretty normal.  On Monday, I rounded up a cart full of supplies at Target while wrestling a cranky Andrew (who had fallen asleep in the car on the way to the store and resented being woken up) only to realize at the check out counter that I’d left my wallet at home.  I apologized and walked out, and I was surprisingly not that upset about it.  The only problem was that on Tuesday I kept asking myself things like, “Now where did I put those raisins?” until I remembered that I’d left the raisins on the conveyor belt at Target. 

So off to Walmart I headed with all three boys since obviously I couldn’t show my face in Target again until at least a respectable three days had passed.  Benjy laid on the bottom of the cart and Andrew and I discussed the differences between the Jolly Green Giant and the Hulk.  One is angry, and the other eats his vegetables. Could there be a correlation there?  I think so.  Jacob disagreed.

On Wednesday, Lucky went to the vet to update his shots, and the receptionists was bewildered by his Spanish shot records.  “I don’t speak Spanish,” she drawled as she tossed the records back on the counter.  That’s probably the first and last time anyone will ever let me act as translator.  I think I’ll update my resumé.

On Thursday, my mother staged an intervention and demanded that I take down my Christmas decorations.  I argued that everyone keeps telling me that this year is going to fly by so Christmas will be here before we know it.  Might as well be ready for it, you know?  She took the wreath off the door on her way in and didn’t stop until every last stocking was emptied and put away.  I think next week I’ll refuse to do the dishes until she fears for the safety of her poor grandchildren living in such squalor and does them for me.  You’re not reading this are you, Mom?

I don’t remember much about Friday except that Benjy announced he’d finally watched every episode of Phineas and Ferb on Netflix.  99 episodes.  I’m so proud.  And I’m such a good mother!

The biggest surprise of the week came on Saturday when a trip to the park turned into an afternoon of golf carts and four-wheelers with my sister-in-law and brother.  And we didn’t even have to invite ourselves over either.  We just picked up my sister-in-law and nephew and then never left their house again after we dropped them off.  That totally counts as an invitation, right?

Finally, we spent this Sunday like we’ve spent most Sundays since we moved back to my home in North Carolina.  Church, dinner, family and letting my parents spoil us rotten.  Maybe this year won’t be so bad.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get around to blogging on a regular basis too.