The hubby traveled out of town for work last week. Any mom with young kids probably knows what I felt in the days leading up to his trip: sheer, utter panic. But this panic wasn’t the kind where I was running around flailing my arms and yelling. I usually reserve that for less important matters, like when that Royal Baby will be born already.
No, this panic was more quiet — the kind that percolated under the surface, bubbling up only once in awhile in moments when I would watch the hubby doing something, like loading our dishwasher, taking out our trash or getting the bath ready for the kids, when I’d realize that OH MY LORD I HAVE TO DO THIS BY MYSELF. For a WEEK.






