Home alone. Lately it seems to be the story of my life.
Having a husband who travels frequently for his job has its pros and cons.
Mostly I’m thinking
cons. When the kids were young, it was tough because all the diaper changing
and long nights fell to me. The unrelenting toddler talk and constant baby
carrying simply wore me out, body and soul. These days the children are big
enough to bathe themselves (but apparently not big enough to pick up their wet towels or
carry their dirty clothes to a hamper), yet the exhaustion can still
be overwhelming. I’m the only one who can help with homework, wash the pans,
chase down the errant dog, or locate the form that was supposed to have been
signed yesterday. No one but me can be trusted to lock the doors, turn off the
lights, and throw the cat out at night. The game pieces, dog toys, and snack
leftovers will lie where they are on the living room carpet until I pick them
up. No one else feels responsible for their whereabouts.