So. After 16 days, my husband is home. Maybe you're new here and you're all like... "ooh, SCANDAL! Where was he? Do you know?" Well, no. I'm not sure where he was. California, mostly, but it's not a small state, and also I know he was in Utah once or twice, maybe visiting his secret Mormon wives... I jest. He doesn't have any secret Mormon wives. That I know of, anyway.
So the last few days of a tour, I just hang on. I typically yell and cry at my kids during the first week, but by the beginning of the third week, I just give up and let them cut holes in the tablecloth if they want to. Whatever it takes to have them out of my bubble.
Sometimes, I get really territorial, after the climbing and the elbowing and the kneeing and the shirt-pulling. "This is MY couch cushion," I will say, drawing a line with my hand. "You can sit anywhere else in this house, but this cushion is for Mommy only." That buys me 30 seconds until someone reasons that that cushion does not include the cushion behind my back, and climbs up on the back of the couch so they can kick me in the head, saying innocently, "But you said that cushion!"
So he's home. They drove all night, so it might be 2 days before he's mentally awake, but you know, whatever. He's home and all is right with the world. I'm sure that's how his Mormon wives feel when he comes back, too.