My husband arrived home this morning from a week overseas.
Actually, that's not true. He arrived back in Sydney this morning. He then proceeded to head straight for work, so technically, he won't be home until later this evening. At which point, I'll probably have stopped missing him.
It's bizarre how much I miss my husband when he's away, considering that when he's here, he drives me crazy much of the time. When he's away, my memories become blurry and softened, like a photo taken with Vaseline over the lens.
I miss my husband in the mornings when I wake up alone, and have to get the kids ready for school all by myself. I forget that he generally lies in bed until the last possible second, before jumping into the shower (usually the exact moment I'm about to step in) and rushing out the door whilst the kids are eating their breakfast. Still, I always get a nice goodbye wave (using 'always' in the sense of 'when he remembers').
I miss him when I'm getting the kids ready for sleep, wishing he were was to help me so that I could get an early night. I forget that his idea of helping to 'settle' the kids is to engage in energetic pillow fights, mad games of toy cricket*, and bizarro, indecipherable games of charades. These excite the kids so much they end up bouncing off the walls, at which point my husband hands them over to me to put to bed. At ten pm.
I miss him after lights out when I'm alone in the living room, longing for some decent adult conversation. Of course, when were are both at home he's generally slumped in silence in front of the TV, whilst I am slumped in silence over my computer. But still, it's companiable silence. If you don't count the nose blowing...
I miss him when I'm lying in our cold, empty bed, knowing that my son's stuffed Shrek is a poor substitute for my living, breathing man. I forget how noisily said man clears his throat at 3am, how vigorously he rolls over, and how arctic our room is when he leaves the air condtioner on.**
Still, he's coming home tonight, and I'll be thrilled to see him. We'll cuddle, he'll get the kids all worked up, and then we'll settle down in silence for the evening.
And within an hour, he'll be driving me crazy again.
Which is just the way I like it.
*an exciting match in which soft toys are used in place of cricket balls; developed for play in small, enclosed areas. Such as bedrooms. Sigh.
**Like many men, my husband considers anything over 18 degrees to be 'boiling'.