To my recently returned from Chile husband of thirteen years,
I just want to take an opportunity to welcome you home. Welcome. Home. Now that you've returned to the madness that is our house, I'm sure you are really missing that quiet hotel room.
But the main intent of this letter is to Thank You. Thank you for leaving your giant black suitcase exactly where you dropped it three days ago in the middle of your closet floor. But the bulk of my excitement lies in the fact that I finally gave in and decided to open the stinky heap of a suitcase to see just how much laundry I was going to get to do today. Wow. Impressive. Not only has that bag remained on your floor, but luckily the two week old stinky laundry is indeed still left shoved and wadded in the bag's tiny nooks, crannies, and zipped compartments. AWESOME.
Because not only do I generally LOVE handling other people's stinky used clothes, but handling and sorting dirty laundry that has been allowed to marinate in its own juices for two weeks is like Christmas morning around here. The pure joy that I experienced un-wadding those still-moist, post-workout athletic socks is one that I will not forget any time soon. Did you get that? NOT ANY TIME SOON. In fact, if I were you, I would check under my pillow tonight or even next to my toothbrush to make sure that the aforementioned sweaty sock hasn't found a new home to be closer to you. But by then, it may be up and walking around to greet you at the door--it's taken on a life all its own. And I don't think it's friendly.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest, welcome home. Really. Because I was really glad to have backup last night when you pulled in at 6:45 whilst I was knee-deep helping Maddie with her book report and diorama, cleaning up dinner, chasing around a toothless Trace after he managed to eat a forbidden grape that someone had dropped, and receiving the news from Aidan that Avery had pooped in the neighbor's lawn and then picked it up and thrown it across the street. Because obviously once you've pooped in one neighbor's lawn, you must regain procession of it and share it with another neighbor across the street. And then come inside reeking like....well, like Dad's pile of dirty laundry.
Your Loving Wife
PS But seriously--I'd check under your pillow. You know what they say about payback...