Today’s the day. Our daughter Abby is returning from a year in Australia. I don’t think I’ve been this excited about an impending arrival since 1982, when my school was chosen to be Chattanooga’s official welcoming committee for Nancy Reagan.
Just like when my fifth-grade class was preparing for Mrs. Reagan, the past week has been a flurry of activity. We’ve painted and redecorated Abby’s bedroom, cleaned the house from top to bottom, made “Welcome Home” signs for the airport, and planned a party. The only thing I haven’t done yet is wash my hair, but that’s because I recently got blonde highlights that tend to turn orange with our well water, so I use bottled water. Washing my hair with bottled water is one of my least favorite things to do, but I don’t want Abby to think her mom has turned into Lucille Ball. Actually, Lucille Ball is probably the last person that would pop into her mind, but I can’t think of any currently popular redheads.
Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m excited, and I’m super excited because Abby is coming home.
So, anyway, as soon as I get my hair washed, and hubby finishes installing the new ceiling fan that I just mentioned to him an hour ago, we will be ready to go. It will be the second time this week I’ve been to the airport, because hubby just got in from Tokyo less than 48 hours ago. That’s why I didn’t mention the ceiling fan until today. Men are more prone to tackle the items on their Honey Do list if they’ve had a good night’s sleep after 30 hours of traveling. It gives them a chance to stop thinking, “It’s only 2 a.m. in Japan. No way I’m installing a ceiling fan at this hour.”