The boys and I had been gone for ten days. (I think I mentioned that.)
My husband and the dog came up to visit over New Year’s for less than twenty-four hours. We had a good visit with my father, my sister and her children. We had a very good visit. But we were gone from the nest for a long time…
I’ve been saying since I turned off the freeway today, it felt more like ten years—not anything bad, just an odd feeling of having left a long time ago. I feel like I journeyed a longer way than four hours. Maybe my heart did. It surely needed to.
Walking in the door was a shock. How odd, I forgot I left the house decorated. The dog, who did not eat the gingerbread house this year—but DID eat a whole box of puppy treats one day after my husband left, greeted me enthusiastically. The cat said, “Yeah, about time you brought the lap back.” And strolled out the door for a walk-about.
I missed my saggy, old pink recliner, also known as the blogging chair. I missed my cheap old coffee pot and coffee grinder—with my fresh ground coffee. I missed my crowded kitchen with the eight foot by four foot, industrial strength bookshelf shoved into it and my kitchen table overflowing with books and unfinished work.
I missed the dog—but not the hair. She is blowing like a cottonwood tree when they release all the white fluff. I also did not miss the neighbor’s beagle/dachshund mix who barked the whole entire time I unloaded the van.
My boys wandered around and played about ten different things—just because they were home and they could. And because they better get all the fun stuff done before school starts Monday.
I missed my husband. The comfortable one, who after fifteen years knows the way to my heart.
It was a good visit. But, aside from strangely appearing items, it is good to be home.