Mark has returned from a four-night golf holiday at a sunny resort in Myrtle Beach. The subject of his holiday, and the fact that I was home alone with the girls, sick, in a house that is in complete disarray … is the subject for an entirely different post. But I didn’t want to mention his absence here while he was gone.
“You’re not going to mention the fact that I’m not here in your blog, right?” His tone was serious. He’s always concerned for our safety.
No, I wouldn’t do that.
When he was leaving we told the girls that they shouldn’t tell people that Mark will be gone for so long. It was a difficult concept to explain, especially since I don’t want to strike fear into their innocent little hearts. I didn’t want to get into scenarios of burglary or break & enter, kidnapping and the like. “It’s PRIVATE FAMILY INFORMATION,” I explained as patiently as I could. “People don’t need to know that Daddy won’t be here for that long.”
So our conversation that day ended in a very unsatisfying “because that’s the way it is.” And we left it at that.
A couple of largeish fellows came by on Saturday to take the furniture away for re-upholstery. What do you think was the first thing that Sarah told them?
“MY DADDY’S AWAY PLAYING GOLF FOR FOUR WHOLE DAYS!”
I pulled her “lovingly” towards me. This was supposed to make her stop. It didn’t work.
“AND HE’S NOT HERE. AT ALL!”
Sarah’s done this to us before. Last summer she told everyone within earshot that we were going camping and wouldn’t be home for “five whole days.” Did you hear that, you shady-looking leather-clad guy in the lineup at Tim Hortons? You have five days to empty the contents of our house! Hmmm. But then again, if the only thing you wanted was the dining room furniture, come over any time. You’re welcome to it.
