All quiet on the home front

My two weeks was up late Sunday afternoon, and the minute she left, I found myself saying, 'That wasn't so bad."  Just like I typically do.  Like a little kid with a shot, squirming and screaming that the doctor is trying to kill me, and just like that, it's over, no pain.
Well, mostly no pain.  When she started in on the sob story, "My ONLY joy in life is Sonic Dr. Pepper, and you DEPRIVE me of it ALWAYS," there was a little pain.  Kind of a stabbing in the back of my eye, where I want to take a melon baller and scoop it out.  
But other than that, it was mostly OK.
So, things have been calm.  Just me, husband and puppies.  The puppies scratch the door like there is no tomorrow while I stand out front antagonizing them.  And fluffy puppy usually gets me back by licking my face at 5 in the morning.  I guess that's fair.
We watch TV, I curl up beside him, and life is peaceful – except when we start talking about the house and whether or not we can afford it.  I think we can, he thinks we can't, and I'm (probably stupidly) ignoring the numbers, but whatever.
I love having things back to normal.  Even if for now, normal is in a tiny, little house.

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