I’ve been away from kids for over a week now, and I miss them. I miss them something fierce. I miss their little hands and their little arms and their sweet little faces and their sweet little voices telling me that they love me.

And then I pull up pictures of last weekend and I take a moment to appreciate the absence of their little brand of crazy.

No, really, I do miss them.

I just don’t miss that. Does that make me terrible?