The Ties That Bind Us

Monday morning, FH set off for Paris at 6 am.
The taxi purred up to collect him, FH slid inside with a happy heart and an undisguised grin.
He was off to Paris for the week. Until Saturday, no less. A training course. And yes, we all know what a "training course in Paris" means: 2-hour lunch breaks, a couple of glasses of red wine on the company tab, a 5 pm finish, Paris by night, shopping.
Hard work.

I didn't blame him. I just wished that, setting off, he'd looked slightly less like a prisoner discovering the outside world after ten years of confinement.

Anyway, my mum is here to help, so the adult-child ratio has not been compromised.

Monday night on the phone, he still sounded quite dizzy on freedom. He babbled on about the course, the people, the restaurants, the Marais we used to know so well...
I listened with half an ear, thinking about LB's ongoing sickness, his fourth dirty nappy of the evening, the meals that had to be prepared, the bath water that was running...
He was in a different universe, and somehow, I couldn't make it in. Couldn't even sneak a peep, to be honest.

Tuesday night, he sounded a little more subdued.
"Oui, oui, it's going very well," he assured me flatly. "Mais - er - actually, I'll be coming home on Friday instead. Not Saturday."
"Why's that?" I asked in surprise. I thought he wanted to eke out as much freedom as he could before returning to this hotbed of germs and childcare we call home.
"Oh, you know..." he faltered sheepishly. "I just miss you all."

I smiled. I too had a happy heart and an undisguised grin.