It starts.

Hubby leaves tomorrow for a "business" trip.  I use the term loosely, because I know where he's going and what he's doing: heading to Florida with a bunch of other youth pastors for our denomination's annual youth workers' summit.

His life is so hard.

Even his bemoaning the need for nose plugs for the van ride home (with half a dozen smelly youth pastors, after a week near the beach, where I know full well they will have access to showers), I do not feel much sympathy for him.

The Fries are not real thrilled with the fact that Daddy is going to be gone for six days.

I really hope it doesn't storm.  Only Daddy is brave enough and strong enough to protect against thunderstorms.

Innyhoo....

We both tucked in the kids tonight, which is the way we used to do it when the Fries first invaded our lives, and then we had to stop, because I couldn't do the stairs more than absolutely necessary during my post-auto-wreck recovery, and there were days that my ankle just throbbed so badly that Hubby had to while I kept my foot propped up and wrapped in a hot rice bag.

But I digress.

We've started tucking the kids in together again, when we're able to.

After I left the twins' room, Hubby was reminding (and encouraging) both of them to be good for Mommy this week while he was away....

Hubby: And if you're really good, I'll bring you back something from Florida.

[Right.  He'll do that anyway.  He's a softie.]

Medium Fry: It bettewr be somefing cool.

Hubby gaped.

Medium: Like a fan.

Last-minute reprieve there for Hubby, I think.