Ths week I’ve been in London doing the Christmas Press Run for my day job.
I left home at silly o’clock on Tuesday morning and I’m on the train now, Thursday evening, heading home.
This is something I do every month or two and yet wherever I leave, my children get upset and cry and make me feel like a terrible mother.
4BoysDad works strange hours and the children can go the same number of days without seeing him, yet they don’t cry and pine for him.
I know I should feel smug that they appear to miss me so much, but I do feel like I ought to be there at home, washing, cooking, wiping noses etc.
Mind you, it’s not as though it won’t be waiting for me. The washing and noses. Good as my husband is, taking on the beast that is our washing machine, is beyond his capabilities…
So it is with a slightly guilty heart and a heavy bag from Paperchase (it’s amazing how far a notebook and pencils will take you), I’m heading home. Tired and sore footed, ready for my bed, but knowing that Daddy will have let them wait up for me…
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