Mommy's home?

When I was a working mom, I used to love the ride home on the nights my husband had already picked up the kids. I had 15 minutes to decompress, and I was ready to give my kids all my attention when I got home. Every night I would envision the kids running, smiling, with their arms wide open yelling "Mommy's home!" That's what they do when Daddy comes home. But, instead I was always attacked at the door, not with hugs, but inquiries about my day like, "what's for dinner?" "can you get me a drink?"  "do you know where my ball is?" The only one here that seems as happy as I want them to be is the dog. Shelby. Her snout is gray, and she has some trouble with stairs, but each time I come home, it's as if she had resigned herself to the fact that I was never coming home, and then, miraculously, I return and she is so overcome with joy she brings me a stick from the yard that nails me in the shin. But, she is happy I'm home.