Himself has just returned from a week's morris dancing (read: beer drinking) in the States. I had the chance to go with him, but couldn't face it.
I hate flying. I hate the thought of flying for seven hours with three small children. I hate the thought of flying for seven hours with three small children and a husband who hates flying for seven hours with three small children (and a terrified wife).
I didn't go.
We had a pleasant, self-indulgent week, with no grumping; but it's nice to have him back, hangover and all (jetlag, my eye).
The baby amused everyone at Heathrow this morning by crawling a good way into the open space from under the barrier. She stopped, sucked her thumb, inspected her audience (all those waiting for arrivals), deemed that all was well, shrieked "Yah," and crawled back again. It made me laugh to see everyone grinning/waving at her, even the hard men!
Made my day.