Apparently, my current schedule is not as traumatic to my children as it is to me. I semi-sorta had today off (while it is my day off from my new full-time job, I still do care giving for the elderly disabled gentleman I mentioned a while back on my days off, just for a few hours a day), and so was home in the early afternoon. I was very excited to walk in and see all three of my guys (as Coach is still only employed part time, he was home early today as well) before I had to head off to the ballpark for another long evening.
In reality? Only Coach was home. Both Jock and Bug had headed off to friends' houses, presumably to be heard from at some point. Dad is not always great about giving them times to check in, see, so they only do so when they remember they have parents. I can't even count on them to just wander home when they get hungry, as they are fortunate enough to have friends' parents who simply feed whatever hungry creatures are in their house wandering around.
I had three hours at home this afternoon to spend with the ones I love, and they weren't here. I'm feeling a little peeved about this. On the other hand, I did get to take a nice little nap on the sofa when I tried to watch a movie.
Bug did call to check in, and asked if a friend could spend the night. Since I won't be home for most of the evening, I left that decision up to Coach. Who, despite his claims to the contrary, seems to be as big a pushover as I am. So when Bug was informed that since I wasn't going to be here, it was up to Dad, and Dad had said okay, his reaction just reinforced my new belief that I may not be needed as much around here so it's okay that I'm not here as much to be needed.
Cool. Guys night.
I am now officially scared to come home later. And I will probably have to put my poor Molly girl in doggy therapy.