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He’s gone again.  It seems as though I gripe about these business trips a fair bit of late.  He leaves on Mother’s Day after a family kitchen dance set to Staying Alive by the Bee Gees and Play That Funky Music White Boy by Wild Cherry.  He brought me Starbucks in bed and it was as only he knows how to order it.  Frankly, somehow it tastes even better when he orders than when I do.  My grande Americano with two extra shots and room for cream prickled across my tongue as I sat there in bed, feigning grogginess for the benefit of the excited Littles, though really I’d been awake for an hour and a half, waiting for the JoyBoy to wake up and begin the festivities. 

He’s gone now and the air feels electric with his absence.  The atmosphere is gray and music-less.   Normally I try harder than this to expand to fill the spaces he leaves.  This time, I just vacuum and make beds and feel a bit sorry for myself, reflecting on the scene in the driveway that bloomed at his departure.  We all stood there in our pajamas, waving and yelling out our various goodbyes.  The two Littles were weeping and I alternated hugging them with my one free arm, the other one happily occupied with holding my precious Starbuckian elixer.  He backed out waving and fist pumping to his ridiculously loud music, trying to make us laugh one last time.  Of course he succeeded; he’s the one person I know who is master at the art of coercing lurching, involuntary laughs from simultaneously weeping children. 

He called later on in the evening to say that he had arrived in Houston.  Only he landed there in what he describes as being sweltering heat, sans wallet.  This seems kind of amusing, but for the fact that he did this identical thing on his recent trip to Florida and that he has to live out the next four days or so inside that forgetful, wallet-less skin of his.  He rails at his own stupidity on the phone but I love him for it.  I’m delighted to organize his life for him; he’s so thankful.  It occurs to me not for the first time that God’s given me my perfect match in this man.  We can’t wait for him to come home again.

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