Back Home Tomorrow

I return home tomorrow.

Of course I'm nervous about the flight. I'm always petrified to fly. I bring books and magazines to try and distract me but when you fly with children, it's doubtful that you'll even get to crack those open. So I'm left sitting there gripping my armrests in fear while leaning over and hissing at the kids to keep their voices down. Thankfully I do have a portable DVD player which came in handy on our way over here. I just popped in Yo Gabba Gabba and Natalie was nearly content. I say nearly because she had a love/hate relationship with her seatbelt and wanted it off most of the time. I'd buckle it back up and she'd scream right into my ear so then all I'd hear for a few minutes after was loud ringing.

I hope she's made up with the seatbelt. I really do.

I also hope that my husband Tom remembers to pick me up from the airport. I wrote down my flight information and he looked at it and shoved it in his pocket.

"Don't lose that," I said.

I could picture him losing it and then forgetting what time he had to pick me up. Then he'd try to call but of course my phone would be turned off since I'll be on the airplane.

"Don't worry. I'll be there," Tom promised.

He called a bunch of times yesterday.

"I just mowed the lawn," he said proudly.

Tom is the type of man who needs to be cheered on for every chore he does. Like when he actually remembers to take out the trash he expects me to do a dance and praise him for it. Even though it's his chore anyway. I mean, do I get praised when I do the dishes? Do people break out into song when I change Natalie's diaper?

I usually end up praising Tom only because on Oprah there was this expert who says that men don't do chores more often because they don't feel appreciated. So I try to assure Tom that I'm proud of him in hopes that he'll surprise me and mop the floors one day.

"That's great," I said to Tom, raising my voice a few octaves. I was speaking to him as I sometimes speak to the kids. Sometimes it's just how you have to communicate with husbands.

"Yes, and I'm about to spray on some weed killer next," Tom continued.

"Nice!"

We hung up a few minutes later. I was actually in a store with my Mom and the kids.

Mom lives by this beautiful place called The Forum which is basically this huge area that has store after store after store. Basically it's my idea of Heaven. They need to build a Forum in Wyoming.

We were in PetSmart because the kids wanted to see the fish when Tom called again.

"You'd be proud of me. I made macaroni and cheese for lunch instead of going out like I wanted to," he said.

I immediately thought of the strainer that he burned the last time he made the macaroni and cheese on his own. I was tempted to ask if all the dishes came out safe but figured it would insult him.

"AND," Tom continued. "I did the dishes afterwards."

What?

Do you know how rare it is for him to do the dishes?

"You...CLEANED?" I said incredulously.

"I cleaned," Tom echoed.

Then we hung up and I thought that was it for awhile. I'm not the type of girl who needs to talk to her man every hour. I never was.

But no.

My phone rang again.

"I just called housing about the broken upstairs toilet," Tom informed me.

"Great. Thanks!" We were in Target at that point and I was staring wistfully at a steamcleaner.

We hung up again and I'm not kidding, ten minutes later my phone was buzzing.

"Jesus. What?" I said into the phone. I didn't need an entire play by play of Tom's day. Soon he'd be calling to tell me that he took a crap and remembered to spray the air freshner afterwards.

"Housing already came and fixed the toilet! They were in the area," Tom said. Then his voice lowered and reminded me of a petulant child. "You don't have to YELL at me..."

Oh for..

"I'm sorry. Thank you for calling housing and having the toilet fixed," I said as I walked into the toy section. Natalie practically threw herself on a Yo Gabba Gabba toy.

"You're welcome," Tom said grandly as though he had just walked up Mount Everest or something.

"Are you going to wash the sheets?" I asked hopefully. I mean, they've been sitting on our bed for nearly two weeks and they are probably just screaming to be washed.

"No. The sheets don't bother me," Tom said. It's true. He liked to gross me out and say that when he was in Qatar for six months that he only washed his sheets three times the entire time he was there.

I gag just thinking about it.

I'm definately going to be washing all the sheets when I get home. I have to wash them at least once per week. Sometimes twice if it's particularily hot because then I picture sweat dripping onto them and that freaks me out all over again.

So yes. Tomorrow I will be home again.

And it's also the day Big Brother begins. I can't help it, I love the reality show.

"Remember that the remote is mine tomorrow," I said to Tom. When he hogs it he puts it on The Military Channel and I'm subjected to shows where the narrator talks.like.this about some old aircraft.

"You'll have to get it from my pants," Tom replied in a suggestive tone.

Oh geez.