(This one was written in February when B came home.)

It’s 9:30 on Saturday night and I’m alone in the living room, watching episodes of Top Gear while I surf the Web and catch up on e-mail. The dogs are here with me, Molly snoozing at my feet and Gromit chewing a rawhide. The dinner leftovers are in the fridge, the dishwasher is running, and there’s a blackberry cheesecake cooling on the stovetop. My arms, back, and legs ache from fatigue.

For the past week I’ve had difficulty sleeping, and during my awake hours several different To-Do lists have raced constantly through my head. I’ve had several long weeks at work, a car wash employee broke a part on B’s truck, and I’ve had so much to do that my time at the gym has been limited. I’ve been distracted, extremely tired, and very short-tempered.

But tonight I could not be more content, because right now my husband is peacefully sleeping off his jet lag in our bed on the other end of the house.

Yesterday was Homecoming Day.

And just as promised, right now I’m available to wait on him hand and foot, cooking while he naps on the couch, watching what he wants to watch on TV, and only going out when he chooses to. Because it’s the least I can do to show him how much he was missed and how glad I am to have him back where he belongs.

This is the post-deployment routine that I’ve come to know well, and it’s absolutely wonderful.


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