Six days. 

Count em, six! I do happy dances all over the house several times a day.

I got so excited at their leaving. Starting the day before, I had this excited buzz. I hadn’t felt this type of enthusiasm since when. . . it’s a familiar feeling. . . geez, it’s how I used to feel before a date with my husband, well, before we were married. 

Ugh, that’s kinda creepy that his leaving gives me the kind of buzz that his arriving used to do.

I watch most of Season Two of Grey’s Anatomy on DVD. I don’t cook. I write. I organize my son’s room. I exercise every day. I play my music loud and dance from room to room. I sleep until eight a.m. instead of six a.m.

My big sister is coming for a sleepover tonight. The girl talk will flow along with the wine.

I cry a lot, too. Not big sobs, just a few tears several times a day. I am filled with gratitude at my luck  – my husband, our son, our home, how easy loving each other is. My life is better than I ever expected it to be. I wipe the tears away. I still miss them even as I dance with joy.

My son calls early this morning. 

He wants to make sure that it’s OK to call me. Of course, I tell him. 

I return to dancing. Not dirty dancing. Guilty dancing. I do miss my family. Still, I dance.