I used to be petrified when my husband told me he was going out of town. How will I ever survive the kids at night all alone?? Now I rejoice - I don't have to cook dinner! Yippppeeee! It is nearly impossible to do so with two whiners grabbing at my legs, reaching for the stove knobs and putting everything in their mouths that I've hastily dropped on the floor in the name of rushed food prep. I've explained this to him and he's totally cool with my not cooking. But when he's in town I feel a decidedly wifely obligation to provide him with something relatively home cooked after a long, grueling day out in the jungle.
All this to say: the boys and I are free to do whatever we damn well please tonight and tomorrow night and the next night. They don't eat a proper "meal" anyway, but rather snack, smoosh, throw and play with their food, so why not take them out and mess up someone else's floor and give myself a well-deserved break from swabbing down the deck for 20 minutes after dinnertime.
I'll probably let them do a couple of other "illegal" things too, like run around screaming in the morning when chronic-night-owl, non-morning-person daddy is usually trying to sleep. Oh and shhhhhhh, don't say a word... I'll let them jump on the couch, eat sand at the beach, pull the toilet paper roll, and take out and clank every single pot and pan. Why fight the machine? I've got much more pressing issues to tackle like keeping them from killing each other and sticking forks into outlets. Not to mention the endless snot-wiping, nail-trimming, nappy-hair-comb-outs and diaper-duties.
So we're cool with you outta town travelin' daddy. We can't wait 'til you're home safe and sound with us again, eating Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream and reading bedtime books. Until then, mommy's off dinner duty :)