coming home

When I first came here as a bride, I remember landing and being hot and sweaty and tired from the trip. The emotional punches of reuniting with my Boy and leaving our first real "home" town. The places where we met and courted and fought and made up- those places will not be easy to return to, if indeed we ever can. Aside from sentimental reasons, there is no way we'd ever go back and it would cost a lot of money to do that.

Last night the plane circled high above the city. We landed in the velvet darkness and as soon as I could pick out the outlines of palms I knew I was home again. As much as it felt good to go back to my childhood home, it felt better to come back Home here, where I'm a grownup again, where I'm running a household and have the wonderful chore of spring/summer/fall cleaning before my Boy comes home again.

Two more weeks and he's here again. Two more weeks and I'll see my husband. He'll see our daughter. And me, of course, because I'm important as his wife, but I know I'm taking a bit of a backseat to the Toddler. I should. If only for a few moments. I wouldn't love him nearly as much if this were not so.