We are home. Love being home. Twice a year we skedaddle out of town for a little business mixed with pleasure. Weeks of worrying about how the kids will do or if I should replace the grungy towels in the master bath now that someone else will be using them, gives way to settling into my twenty three inches of personal space, husband’s shoulders vying for dominance over the arm rest, and waiting for the plane to reach cruising altitude so I can play sudoku on my iPad. And while I can hardly stand to leave the littles, would be happy with a netflix movie and chipotle take out on the couch and calling it a retreat, husband loves to travel and therefore I am trying to love it too.
So while the littles were here, having grand adventures with nana and papa, including the someday-to-be-famous ten cousin sleepover (actually only mildly different from the thirty car pile-up), husband and I were exploring south Florida. Turns out it’s mostly people pushing cockapoos in pink dog strollers and wealthy clones of the old lady from Something About Mary wearing Lilly Pulitzer caftans and crooked lipstick. But what we did find, besides great food, great conversations and a wickedly lovely hotel, was each other. The ones we were before we were six. Getting away affords us time to do that. It’s always my favorite souvenir (although the slip dress I picked up at a little boutique on Atlantic is a close second) and when we get home I swear I’m not going to let it slip away this time. But then laundry and baseball practice and a million other large and small things interrupt and before I know it, time has elapsed and we are us (6) again and not us (2). Which makes me ever thankful for the chance to get away again and find us (2). Thankful for a rockin nanny and papa who moved in and loved on the littles for four days. Thankful to Father for the redemption stories he’s writing in my marriage and in my life. Thankful to husband for pushing it, knowing if he didn’t I’d prolly never leave again. Thankful for a cozy, blustery day in which I can snuggle up with peter’s lovey and write about it all. Just thankful.
This is me being real. Thankful. And wondering…ten cousins? Really?

2 Replies to “together.”

  1. I hardly moved from the davenport [sofa-I'm 64, that's what we used to call it], on Sunday, and yesterday found me, in my nightie, eating granola with greek yogurt at 10am, but today I'm as back to normal as I get, and I'm left with the priceless memories. Four days of them, like Lulu riding her bike with streamers all the way to Seidman Park, but not all the way back. Tessie jumping for joy watching budderfies flit around her head. Peter losing a tooth in the middle of dinner with 13 cousins, and Grant asking for prayers each night for good sleep. So many memories, too many to write, but not too many to treasure.
    In looking back, I wouldn't do anything different, maybe bring staff next time, but 4 days with 4 grands- priceless!
    loving you all deep


  2. Mom, you can call it whatever you want-you earned as much time on the davenport as you'd like. So thankful for your sweet care of the littles so we could jet off by ourselves. So thankful for all the things that make you you and me your daughter and both of us loving on these kids and each other. So thankful.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s