I know the title of this post may be a little misleading. Let me explain.
Despite the dogs' vote that this newest foster dog of ours be hastened out the door (just joshing: the pups love Kiernan dearly, especially box-of-rocks Moxie), it is not our beautiful son who has fled the scene. It is my sweet husband. That's right, give Billy a paying gig in Austin and he's hitting I-35 like a long-haul trucker. Today marks the second Monday in a row that I've faced the week in DFW alone with a small, noncommuniciative howler monkey. My level of trepidition was much higher last week, namely because I wasn't sure I would survive the week. Well, I emerged relatively unscathed last Friday night so I know that physically it can be done. So, while I'm not thrilled with the prospect of being down to two until Friday night again, I will keep my hopes (and panicked phone calls to the pediatritian) up.
And, because today is Billy's birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART!) I won't even tell him about the insane-o-ness (yes, it's a word) until tomorrow (which is my birthday). Let him have one day of peace. That's my gift this year. Isn't being broke awesome? ;)
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