Training exercises.

CPT Dick's been off at some "echelons above reality" training exercise. He returned for the weekend and then mercifully left again today. I know I'm supposed to whine and tell you how much my heart is breaking that he's gone again but I just don't have the energy. The man came back for two days and tore my house apart.

My husband doesn't need any more training in tactics or weapons maintenance. I think he's up to speed on all that. What he does need is a quick refresh on how to put his dishes in the dishwasher and the why's and how's of laundry hampers. I don't think I'm asking for much. I mean, it's not like I'm expecting him to actually unload or *gasp* turn on the dishwasher or throw his own skivvies in the wash. I'd be happy if he just didn't leave his shit all over the house all the time. I feel like every time he comes home, I feel like I have to housetrain him all over again.

I don't know if his lack of tidiness is a product of living in the field or just that he figures I must be used to it now that our Munchkin happily spits half-chewed food into random corners of the house several times a day. But just the sight of my house is exhausting. Stinky brown t-shirts and wool socks abound. My son keeps finding food-encrusted plates in the living room and licking them with a grimace. And I don't even want to know what might be under the couch. And all this in just under 72 hours.

So I'm in tears all right. But I'm crying because I think today's cleaning session might just require a fire hose and some delousing spray.