Coming Home

Okay, I'll admit it. Yesterday was a pisser of a day at work. Some days just are, I guess.

Driving home - which automatically puts me in a foul mood as I prefer walking - I held back the urge to curse and yell at the traffic, inched my way the 2 miles home at the pace I could've walked, then maneuvered into the drive so I wouldn't run over the hose nozzle that sprawled right where my tire goes.

I turned off the car and took a deep breath, then looked over into the front yard. There was Hubby talking with a friend (most likely about fishing). He glanced over and tossed me one of his crooked smiles. Added with the sparkling greens he was born with, a little weight of the day slid off my shoulders.

I piled out with my bag, rounded the car, and headed up the sidewalk. Passing them, I confirmed with an inner grin that yes, indeed, they were talking Sturgeon. Entering the house, I found it cleaned and empty of my mini peeps.

Bummer. They usually perk me up with their welcoming barrage. Oh well, I thought and drudged down the hall to change out of my work clothes.

There, welcoming me through the bedroom window were the squeals, laughs, and hollers of my children playing in the pool. The rest of the weight crumbled off my shoulders. I stood at the window and watched them for several minutes.

This is what makes those pisser days worth it, coming home to a family.