I could sit here, probably for hours, and wax poetic about my trip back ‘home’, about how I really cannot pinpoint where that is on a map anymore, about how wonderful my family and friends are, and how nice it’s been to eat fresh seafood for a change. I could describe, in minute detail even, all of the wonderful action packed activities Monkey-1 and I participated in, how gloriously cheap Walmart still is and how lovely it is to just pick something off the rack and have it fit. I could possibly scratch the surface on how much better my soul feels, how I’m absolutely certain that raising my children here is the right thing, or try to find a reason, any reason, why so-called French bread bought in the US resembles nothing sold at a boulanger here. I could even describe the tearful goodbye at the train station, the nightmare of traveling through London on a foggy fall day, and the lightness I feel now that my family is intact once again. But I won’t.
See, it’s 4-something in the morning, and while you’re probably working your way through coffee many hours after I post this, I’m still working through jet lag, flying-related sinus issues, and all the amazement I have at how much Monkey-3 has changed.
But, as Christine so eloquently showed us on the way home from the crèche last night, where she sighed her brother’s name in the car and held his hand all the way back to the still-too-small abode, it’s very comfy here, all together, all safe, and all alive. And that’s really all I need.
I was thinking about you today. I'm glad you're home safe, and that you has a good trip back "home."