"Crazy is as crazy does." *

H leaves this afternoon for Europe for a week.
His trip is to a conference, wholly work-related, and with minimal –absolutely minimal, as in, he will have time to sleep but that’s probably about it – free time.
Which is one good reason I am not accompanying him.
Well, that, and the minor issue of having someone care for three small, incorrigible boys for a week while I gallivant my pregnant self off to London and Cambridge.
The fact that I have an ironclad excuse not to board a plane crossing the Atlantic Ocean doesn’t hurt either. I REALLY don’t like to fly.

However, being at home by myself for a week with three small boys is no picnic, either.
And I must have forgotten my Zoloft this morning because suddenly some mania is setting in and I am considering doing ALL of the following in the coming week (when really, it will be all I can do to simply SURVIVE):
Buy a couch
Scrape and paint two windows
Start demolishing the kitchen walls
Paint the front porch
Finish my nephew’s quilt
Finish the living room curtains

Really? I am going to order pizza and Chinese for dinners, take the boys to the park, and read as much as I can.
I will go buy the new Richard Russo novel.
I might rake some leaves and put the outdoor summer toys in the basement.
I've already hired someone to walk the dog for the week.
Maybe I'll do some editing work in there somewhere, and a load or two of laundry.

I might be crazy, but I’m not CRAZY.

***************

UPDATED: You know, I didn't think I would especially miss H. I mean, we've been married forEVER and honestly, there are times when I think life would be easier without him around all the time. But he's only been gone for eight hours, and maybe the boys' sadness is rubbing off on me, but I do miss him. Not just because I had to put the boys to bed by myself, either. (And if *someone* cranked them all up on pizza and ice cream, well, I have no one to blame but myself, hmmm?)(And no one to thank for them not being worse but Gina - who came to meet us at the park with a football and The Boy, who was insanely patient with three small and annoying boys and pretty much wore them out for me, bless him.)
(Also, Gina? Has quite the throwing arm on her. Most impressive.)

* I made this up. I have never understood that proverb, "Pretty is as pretty does," so I cribbed it for my own. It makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose.