And then I heard about the plane crash out of LaGuardia. Even though I also heard quickly about the amazing rescue efforts, still, my husband was in the air at the same time as that plane and I thought again, really, thank goodness, how nice it would be to have him home tonight.
The girls shrieked and squealed. They jumped on him and tackled him and jumped some more. They kissed and hugged and danced and squealed. They pushed him on the laundry pile I never had the opportunity this week to fold and jumped and giggled and tickled. E declared that Daddy was a swingset and she was climbing up and sliding down. They were so happy to be reunited. And when L festooned him with so many pieces of the tissue she was shredding that the air over his legs looked like a ticker-tape parade; and E squeezed his neck so tightly between her legs that he started to cough and her monkey underpants revealed, in the clenching, that she too will have cellulite one day; and I could stand freely, watching my one-ring circus, with for once in days nobody climbing on me at all; I thought, how lovely it is that he's home.