Since the children have been gone, I've taken to talking to the dog. Now, I've always talked to my dog, but this is getting a little worrisome. I'll arrive home after being out and I'll chat with my dog. Tell her what I've been out doing, ask her what she's been doing (usually I answer my own questions, "oh, you've been sleeping under daddy's pants in the closet? And waking up to lick your butt? What a good girl.") and tell her that the children are not with me this time, that she'll have to wait for them to come home.
The weather has been bad, so she's been a little more clingy than she normally is, crawling under my legs, standing between me and the cabinets while I cook (even vegetables, so it's not just for the droppings), crawling under me while I sew, sometimes sitting on the foot pedal, causing some irregular seams (oops, sorry!).
And here I am, writing about my dog. Because I'm that pitiful without my children. But the littlest one did call earlier today, asking whether we wanted some food. And what kind. See what I mean about needing to be in the same room with him when he talks? He was setting up a restaurant and wanted to take some orders. Fortunately, daddy had a hankering for a cheeseburger and fries, and mommy wanted a giant Dr Pepper and some ice cream.