Home (34/60)

I slept in my own bed with my pillow and my side of the bed.

I woke up with someone to remind me to get out of bed.

I ran in the cool 68 degree weather (with 48% humidity).

I made waffles (my mama isn't eating flour) and Orange Julius (or sugar or juice).

I kissed three beautiful cheeks and waved them off from the garage.

I did yoga with my Lynsie and we solved the world and our own problems during sun salutations.

I caught up with Christy while we hiked through the hills behind our houses.

I had a croissant and egg sandwich from my favorite bakery.

I took a long bath.

Henry texted that he dreamed of babies.

I called him and he said, I know what my first baby will look like.

I said in ten years?

He laughed and said, No. Sooner.

I shook my head and thought, That boy.  But somehow it always works out.  I hope . . .

I did laundry and kissed cheeks when they came home.

And fell asleep on my unmade bed while Finnegan played the violin.

And listened to the wind move through the trees and watched the gray clouds swirl over the mountains and smelled the hint of rain in the air.

With Piper and Finn, I walked through the almost rain and found a tiny puff of a dog who wanted nothing but to be pet and loved.

Piper and I made a five minute dinner of breaded chicken and potato wedges (bless timers on ovens).

In the hurry and rush, I drove barefoot to Piper's gymnastics, with the windows rolled down and the smell of rain blowing through our hair.

Phoebe called and just hearing her voice made my mama heart sigh to know she is well.

My friend, radiant and at peace, put pumpkins and decorations at her front door as her doggy begged me for love.

With laughter and shaking heads, her dog walked us around the block, as we talked about our children and our parents and how we are learning from each of them.

Listening to the neighborhood children play in our back yard, John and I sat loosely wrapped in each others arms, as full dark fell over our little corner of the world.

Celia blew in with excited chatter about her day and week and hopes for this weekend, her happiness in this moment making her glow.

After showers, we sat cuddled and entangled on the couch downstairs, watching taboo midweek TV of football highlights and fails.

Tucked in, the children each asked for a hug and kiss which we gave and softly repeated our goodnights as we shut off the lights and wandered back upstairs.

My teeth are brushed, my face is washed.

I am typing at the edge of my bed because I know . . . once I get in, there will be no going back.

Tonight, I will not be alone in bed.

Tonight I will hear the little sighs and coughs and noises of the other little (and not so little) humans in my house.

Tonight I am home.