On nights when The Man works, my kids and I have our children's hour.
Normally it consists of sippie cups of milk and old cartoons--Warner brothers and Droopy--or a movie I know they will like.
They tell me about their day and narrate their actions for me.
Punk clings to me with tightly clenched chubby fists and a determined smirk.
Boo dances around the house and tattles on his siblings.
And Bug watches me. Occasionally running at me to hug me with a painful ferocity.
They miss me during the day. And they miss their daddy at night.
Our hour is never quiet or still.
It's always loud and ruckus and crazy.
But it's time I get with the heathens, just being, with few demands and fewer things I have to do around the house.
And it's precious.
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