As much as I love my husband and look forward to him coming home, it’s not always smooth sailing when he walks through the front door after being gone for weeks.

He can’t understand why I’m not waiting at the front door, wearing nothing but a smile, wanting to hop on board the love train before he even kicks off his boots.

I can’t understand why he doesn’t seem to grasp that dropping three garbage bags full of dirty laundry at my feet the moment he walks in will never be considered tender foreplay.

Of course, the kids’ climb all over their dad the moment they hear him walk through the door. They each grab a leg and hold on tight, like two little dogs humping his leg that he can’t shake loose. They’re like burrs that need a crow bar to pry them loose.

Yet, once Boo’s ego has been stroked, as well as a few other body parts (his feet people…get yer minds out of the gutter), life settles back into the comfortable routine it took us more than ten years to establish.

Basically, he leaves every damn light on in the house and I follow behind, yapping at him like a small terrier.

It’s good to have him home.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when I open up the refrigerator to get milk and find an empty milk jug. Thanks honey. Or trip on his dirty socks beside the bed, on my way to the bathroom. Or finally get a moment of peace to read my magazine only to find him ripping it up to use it to start a fire.

It is great to have him home. Really. Once I get past the whole wanting-to-strangle-him phase. I am no longer the go-to gal when Fric and Frac need a referee. I am, in fact, off duty the moment my man walks in the door and makes eye contact with his wee ones. And after being trapped alone in a small house with the two of them, listening to them argue for over a week, it was a truly satisfying moment to pass the parental torch like a hot potato to my darling Boo.

Waves of gratitude rolled off me like the pheromones of a dog in heat.

After spending the day peeling the children off their father and the ceiling, Boo and I cuddled up in bed, happy for a moment of kid-free silence. It has been a month since I last buried my noses in his smelly pit shared a pillow with my man and I was intent on making the most of it.

Until he started throwing off more heat than a stoked fire.

“Holy jeepers, man, you are smoking hot!” I whined as I tossed the covers back and fanned myself for some cool air.

“Why thank you,” he leered as he waggled his eyebrows and reached over to pull me closer.

“Not on your life, buddy. Get thee to the far side of the bed before I melt,” I argued as I pushed him off of me.

“Oh, I’ll melt you honey, just you wait.”

Rolling my eyeballs, I tell him to go hop in a snow bank and then we’ll talk.

“Fine. I’ll go turn down the furnace, you big baby,” he sighs and pads out to be a good boy. Er, I mean, dutiful husband.

Later in the night, after wearing ourselves out fighting for mattress space and covers, I woke up to find my teeth chattering. My arms were sporting goose bumps the size of small mountain ranges and even snuggling into Boo didn’t help. It was like cozying up to an iceberg. Only hairier.

I momentarily considered poking him in the ribs to get him to check the furnace, but then decided in an uncharacteristically chivalrous moment to get up myself and allow him to have his beauty rest. After all, he had a long day ahead of him with the ‘honey-do’ list I had thought up.

Of course, I couldn’t find my slippers and the floor was ice cold, and I was regretting trying to be a nice wife as I walked to the thermostat.

Holy hell in a handbag, that ass turned it down to 60! No wonder I was turning blue. Muttering some creative cusses under my breath, I cranked the heat up and padded back to bed.

Mercy be damned, my feet were cold so I stuck them where I knew they’d get warm. Right between his meaty thighs.

“Shit woman! That’s not nice!” Boo cussed as he woke up to find my feet cozy from the warmth of his testicles.

“You turned the furnace down to 60 you ass! What did you expect?” I complained as I tried tugging more blankets over to my side. Poor Nixon was accidentally sent rolling as I got a good grip and tugged hard.

“You said you were hot!”

“Not that hot you arse! My toes are darn near falling off,” I said as I wiggled them deeper into his warmth.

“Cut it out,” he growled and tried to yank some of the covers back in his direction. “Besides, I never thought you’d notice, what with all the fur on your legs.”

“Ya, well, I thought I would wait till you get home and then use your razors with out telling you so you’d have something to bitch at me for,” I replied sweetly as I snuggled into his armpit.

“It’s against the law to smother your wife with a pillow, right?” he groused as he tried to find a comfortable spot with my feet in between his legs.

“Ah, honey, I love you too.” I couldn’t tell for sure, but I’m sure I heard something about a wood chipper and annoying wives as he rolled over to go back to sleep.

Wait till he finds out I ripped up his favorite shirts from when he was a teenager to use as dust rags. He’ll be so happy to be back.

It’s good to have him home.