All is quiet. I'm temporarily alone in the house... well, except for the cat.
I have just kissed my two men goodbye at the door: both the tall one with the Gregory Peck eyes, and the very short one who lost his second tooth hier. I wished them both a bonne journée and waved them off with a smile.
OK, I stopped short of handing out lunch bags at the door. My hair and makeup wasn't done, and I was still in my pajamas -- no high heels and perfectly coiffed hair here. Both the nanny and the femme de ménage arrive soon, so it's not like I have an entire household to run; I don't even have to iron Georges' shirts myself. And I have a lot of work to do for my clients; also have to go across town to clean up the old apartment and make sure I didn't leave anything behind.
But there is a grocery shopping list on the fridge, some things to be dropped off at the pressing and some laundry I could be folding. And I know that around 6 or 6:30 tonight, I will be eagerly waiting and watching for l'homme de ma vie to come home to me, and tell me about how his day went.
I am definitely having a June Cleaver moment. Without the pearls.
