Missing

It's a quarter to midnight and my day is finally wrapping up.

Two nights a week I get home close to ten.  Bill is usually still up, basically just waiting for me to get home safely before crashing into bed himself.

I feel like I have missed the party.

Bill gives me highlights.
They walked to the park.
A funny moment.  A silly expression.
What they ate.
How easy/hard it was to get Landon to bed.

I peek in on Landon and can't help but think how there is nothing sweeter than the way he looks.
Tonight, he is nestled into a blanket we put on the floor next to his bed.

I don't know if he started there, or fell there.  I'm glad it's there either way because it has cut down on the midnight thumps and subsequent tears.

Five minutes with Bill.
A few minutes to gaze at Landon and give him a goodnight kiss.


They left this morning before I even woke up.
I come home long after, or shortly before they are asleep.


It feels strange to live with two people and miss them so keenly so much of the time.