Big Daddy Comes Home

5:17pm, Friday evening. Three hours to D-Time--- Big Daddy gets back from two weeks out of town. As I may have written before here, the Mr. is a neat-freak, with shades of OCD. It is he who does the laundry (daily), who vacuums the house (methodically), who has been known to make the bed while I am still asleep in it (no joke). And it is he who will walk through the doors of his absolutely chaotically cluttered castle in a mere few hours.

“Quick girls, clean up your bedroom! Go-go-go!” I shout as if they are jumping from a military plane. “We’ve only got three hours to get this house into shape! Make that bed! Pick up those dirty socks! Get those DVDs back into some sort of order!” I bark.

They get going (they understand the seriousness of a tidy house to their Daddy and do not want him to bear witness to the state in which we have been living for the past 14 days.) As they dive into the mess, they put on a CD and begin dancing around the room and singing as loudly (and off-tune) as possible. It’s like High School Musical 2 up there.

Their CD of choice? Pink-- I’m Not Dead Yet. ‘Pink?’ You may gasp. Yes. I love her and can overlook the bad words because of her fabulous message to girls to stand up for themselves and behave like the smart and strong beings that they are. The first time I heard ‘Stupid Girls’ I wept. I still cry every stinking time I hear it. She is as tough as nails and I love her.

So, as I write this I listen to all four of my little girls up in their bedrooms singing the chorus to ‘Dear Mr. President’ (oh no, here come the water works again).

I feel super lucky right now.