Things I did (and did not do) this week.

CPT Dick will return from his field problem today. When I last spoke with him, he was in a foul mood. When I suggested that he park his 'tude before walking in the door tonight, he said, "You don't know how bad this sucks. What have you done all week?"

And instead of starting an argument, I decided to chronicle what I did, indeed, accomplish this week in my husband's absence. You see, I've decided that men are just innately wired to believe that women who stay/work at home eat bon bons and nap while their children run amok. And that's understandable, I suppose, as that's just what CPT Dick does when he's home and in charge of the boy. So for the record:

• I cleaned the house. And I mean, cleaned it. I mopped floors, decontaminated the bathrooms, filed, tidied, swiffered, dusted and scrubbed. (DISCLAIMER: This might not be obvious to the casual observer since I live with Munchkin the Destructor who, like his Daddy, considers a clean room to be a challenge).
• I finished two articles, lined up another one, sold an essay and started writing down some ideas for new essays.
• Ran 13 miles (divided up into 3 separate runs).
• Documented my angst here.
• Laundry, laundry and more laundry.
• Hosted the Developmental Nazis.
• Finished Christopher Priest's "The Prestige," which was pretty good.
• Attended three mandatory fun events to represent my wayward husband.
• Started (and finished) my Christmas shopping.
• And most importantly, I played with my son and saved him countless times from mortal peril. And there was *a lot* of cuddling, too. Can't forget that part.

And what I did not have to do this week:

• Run to the store in the middle of the night because my husband finished the the Munchkin's whole milk, ignoring the skim milk that he insisted I buy standing right next to it.
• Chisel dried batter from the kitchen cabinet doors because CPT Dick decided that some midnight brownies were in order.
• Find empty boxes of vanilla wafers in the pantry. (Can anyone explain this baffling behavior? When the boxes are full, CPT Dick refuses to put them away. But when they are empty, back in the pantry they go! And it's not like it's closer than the trash can. Totally flummoxes me).
• Wake up in the middle of the night and repeatedly punch my husband until he rolls over and I can get some covers back.
• Smell CPT Dick's nasty ass running shoes. I'm not sure if he let a cat piss on them or his feet create non-regulated toxic waste when he runs, but you can smell those suckers two floors away.

But despite all that, it will be nice to see him tonight.

Until, at least, he throws all his nasty battle rattle on the foyer floor and I'm left wondering how the hell he got so dirty during a computer-based training exercise.