The hardest part…

I can’t ever decide whether the hardest part of coming home to my family is:

a) realizing my littles do just fine without their mama and don’t pine for me the way I pine for them,


b) finding the time to mow down the legions of renegade hairs who seized some serious ground in their ongoing and determined campaign for control of my face. (Sometimes I think there aren’t enough tweezers in all the world.)


c) the way ALL FIVE of my children are SURE that I’ve DESPERATELY missed being licked.

That is all.

Glad to be home.

Still doing laundry.

More soon.

Covered in slobber,


P.S. Sorry I said “still doing laundry.” That was misleading. I’m always still doing laundry.

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5 responses to “The hardest part…”

  1. I attend to my facial hair on the rare occasions when I’m in the car and both children are asleep and I can pull into a supermarket carpark somewhere and whip out the tweezers and make use of the rearview mirror. Oh, those halcyon days when I had the time to bleach and pluck and shape! I see them in the dim and fading distance, never to return. I am sentenced to a discouragingly hirsute future.

    Welcome home! Shall we compare laundry piles? 😉


  2. LOLZ Beth, lots of mental images! Back from camping over here, so still doing laundry, as always. Sometimes I wish (only for split seconds) that it were the olden days, and laundry was only a weekly chore. More time for tweezers. Well, not really, because of no electricity, no running water and no supermarket. Then I am thankful again 😉

  3. Very fitting that when I ”Swype-d” in my name, the top suggestion was ”yeti”, since I was going to say that I entertained the thought today of just surrendering to the facial hair and wondered just how much of a social outcast that would make me….

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