My husband is coming home from his trip today. I always like this day. Years ago when we were dating, my husband was going to school in Arizona and I was going to school in Indiana. Carl was driving home for Christmas and was stopping by my school to pick me up. I expected him on Saturday, but he showed up on Friday because he had driven straight through to see me.
I remember sitting in my dorm room and hearing my name being called over the speakers in the hall telling me that I had a visitor (we didn't have things like telephones in our rooms, so if you had a visitor or had a phone call, your name was called over the loud speakers for all to hear.) I had not even showered yet. I may have even had the smell of stale beer on my breath from the night before and I was confused as to who may possibly be visiting me at 10 a.m. on a Friday. I walked down the stairs to see Carl standing there.
It would have been a completely and utterly romantic moment if I had fresh breath and clean underwear on... but I was totally impressed by the devotion that he had, and the fact that he was so whooped that he would drive 30 hours straight (with his head sticking out the window to stay awake) just to see little ol' me.
There is no better feeling in this world than that of being wanted. I mean, here I sit with baby spit on my shoulder, crayola paint in my hair, loads of laundry piled up behind me, smudged mascara, stretch marks on my tummy, hair on my legs (ahh, it would be nice to shave them before he gets home... but I don't live in a fantasy world), and a Barbie sticker on my butt and my husband is pressing on, rushing home to see me.
I am the luckiest girl in the world.