Since basketball season began, I have had the luxury of spending only a handful of uninterrupted nights at home with my family. Last night, as I entered the house around 5:30, until Cricket went to bed around 8:00, we proceeded to portray a household of mass chaos and disarray. Imagine a one-year old screaming because her mother is ignoring her, while mommy is making a mess in the kitchen, baking four pies for a college basketball team that will arrive the next day. Also imagine a father running around to keep up with his daughter, taking her with him to pick up dinner at Zaxby's, giving her a bath to calm her down, pushing the play button on her favorite singing-cow 20+ times, and putting her to bed before she became obstinant. In all, it progressed as a hectic evening, but it was perfect. At one point, I looked at my wife, wrist-deep in chocolate-creme pie filling, and said:
"I've loved this evening."
"Really? Even with a cranky daughter and a neglectful wife? What could possibly be good about it?"
"I'm home."
I'm home. Let the breathing begin.
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