Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Home again, home again

It's been a while since I've written--as you no doubt know, I was in San Francisco last weekend, and I am happy to say my boys were just fine without me. Well, I'm not *happy* to say it, actually--I mean, I'm 99% thrilled that they were fine, but a small, petty, ugly part of me wishes Davis had appeared to miss me a bit more than he did. Isn't that sick? I have a wonderful partner who spends a great deal of time with his kiddo, and I'm being Joan Crawford, moaning that the baby wasn't traumatized enough by my absence. Disgusting.

Anyway, it's been a whirlwind since I got back. Since there was only one Caretaker this weekend, that meant there was no Choreperson, so there was quite a lot in the laundry-and-dishes-type-area to do upon my return (which I actually did joyfully, so happy was I to be with my family again). Plus, as my dear Spousal Unit explained in his post, the babe is crawling now, so we are rapidly trying to fill the holes in our Mobile Baby Management and Containment System. I'm not gonna lie--there's been some head-bonking, some paperback novel noshing and a few near misses with the cat bowls, but overall, we seem to be working out the kinks and expect to be able to go live with the MBMCS starting this weekend.

And just because being away for three days didn't make things crazy enough, we also have developed an apparent infestation of Indian Meal Moths. You may be as surprised as I was to find that the creature depicted by this name is *not* a tiny-but-comely moth who feasts exclusively on curry and saag paneer (since both are Indian Meals, right?) but are instead yucky little vermin who flit around the air and leave dusty tracks if you touch 'em or kill 'em. Its turn-ons are, apparently, everything in our house (birdseed, cat litter made from wheat, nuts, whole grains, and pet food) and I can't say I've figured out the benefits to having these wee guests, unless playing "which of the grains of brown rice are moving of their own accord" is your idea of a good time. Bleah.

In the interests of making this a kinder, gentler blog (I've been warned by one reader that some of my posts appear to reveal the tiniest bit of hostility, to which I replied "Oh, and just what the HECK do you mean by THAT?"), though, I will say that I am extremely happy to be home, chores and icky bugs and all. The hotel I stayed at might have had instant clean linens, a short-order cook and a spa, but it didn't have any of the real comforts of home. My favorite Billy Joel song says it best: "Wherever we're together, that's my home."