Pseudad

Thank God for Thursdays.
I got home late Wednesday -- had to go to Bethesda for an MRI in the late afternoon and it took an hour to metro back to my car -- and Thursday I was scheduled to be the guy working late in case some general needed a T crossed.
By the time I get home, dinner's done, but the kids are happily playing with Grandad, throwing balls, running trains, what have you. It halts for a second while I walk in the door -- Ryan tells me I should say hi to everyone in the room and Erin stomps towards me like a miniature rhino, big open smile showing her three teeth -- but resumes while I plop in a chair to take off my boots. Warms my cockles to hear the giggles and screams of my kids while watching their grandfather tiptoe around the kitchen to sneak up on one of them, or find him sitting on the floor up against Ryan's dresser, reading him stories as he leans into his Grandad's armpit.

And he doesn't even charge us.