Day One...

The Husband officially left this morning to work Full Time at his Armory.

With a Paycheck...thank you Congress for coming in right under the wire.  I appreciate the heart attack.

Testing out the new healthcare legislation eh?  Thanks.  I needed that.

He rolled out at 430a to drive to his Armory to start the Mobilization stuff that he does.

He's explained it...I have no clue.  I mean, I sorta get it, but then he starts talking in code...I glaze over and nod on occasion.

I used to pay closer attention, before The Toddler.  Heck, I even trained in the simulator with him at Ft Knox and fired tank rounds during a weekend training session when his Gunner didn't show up (I'm pretty damn good at it too...even the Instructor said so).  I've studied Artillery with him, and helped with memorandums and stuff...I can even do Vehicle ID and the Phonetic Alphabet (which is INCREDIBLY handy).

Now, I am lucky to know what weekend he has Drill.

It works for us.

The Toddler and I get to Daycare this morning, and the waterworks came on.
Fully on.
He was screaming  "Please Mommy, don't leeeavveee me heeeeerrrreeee!  Mommy...UP UP UP'
OMG...Worst Mother in the World Award...right here folks.
Clinging to me...tears, snot...the whole nine yards.

The Teacher knows that The Husband has left.
And the Inlaws were all in over the weekend.
So it's been a little crazy at our house.

And I think The Toddler is catching on, even though we are desperately trying to not make this a Big Deal.

So I left Daycare...slinking away while my child is shrieking his head off.

I love Teacher.  She rocks.

I called about an hour later, because I felt guilty.

He was fine.

And when I picked him up...he was a perfectly happy little man...that proceeded to inform me that his caterpillar was sad, because he missed his mommy, just like him.

Insert Guilt Trip #356,743.

Drove home with him chowing on goldfish and asking a gazillion questions about Lightning McQueen...and listening to his plans to play in his sandbox as soon as we got home.

Problem...the sandbox is way out in the back yard.

I needed to put dinner in the oven.

So I closed the gate on the back deck, handed him a mini bottle of bubbles, left the back door open, and dashed to throw the chicken tenders in the oven.

I hear 'Mommy...I will clean it!'

Clean what?

I run around the corner of the bar, to find my adorable three year old, on his hands and knees, with the greasy black nasty grill brush...proceeding to clean the hell out of the rug in front of my backdoor.

Apparently that is how you get spilled bubble liquid up...in Three Year Old Land.

Awesome.

At least it's washable.

Day One...Done.