He does it a couple of times a year. Packs the kids up and loads them into the van. As I deliver a final hug, I whisper to my husband, “Drive carefully—you’ve got my whole life in that van.”
He indulges my concern, smiles, promises to be careful, and tells me to enjoy myself. Then he whisks my girls away for an overnight father/daughter getaway. I shut the door and face an empty house.
Then I do a little happy dance.
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