There’s no place like home

While I was gone, I called every day to talk to the kids. Despite their launching themselves at my ankles to keep me from leaving in the first place, they seemed to have lost all interest in further contact once I’d pulled away from the curb. Dylan and Daphne refused to come to the phone, and Logan, after several entreaties, held the phone in the vicinity of his face and said, “Mommy, I’m starting to forget about you.”

“Forget about me? Why?”

“I’m just doing too much stuff.”

Fortunately, that all changed when I walked in the door last night at 9 pm. They all came tumbling down the hall in various stages between jammies and nudity and tackled me in the foyer. Dylan patted my disheveled strands flopping more out than in my hairband and said, “Mommy, your hair looks good!” We hugged and kissed on the floor and then moved the party to the beds. Daphne was out like a light as soon as I lay down with her, and the boys insisted on coming to our bed, where they went slack-jawed and drooly about five minutes later. My heart was creaking, I was so happy.

I made a little mental collection of all the things they couldn’t wait to tell me once I was home:

“I missed you so much.”

“Your clothes look really nice.”

“Don’t forget to put on your jammies.”

“I love you because you’re home.”

“Mommy, will you read my book with me in my bed?”

“Mommy, will you read it again?”

“I love you because you’re happy.”

“Please don’t go away again.”

“I hope you don’t go away again and never come back.”

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.” (It was Saturday anyway.)

“I want mama.”

“Mommy, do you have mama? And do I have owies?”

“Did you have a good time on the airplane?”

Me: “I’m so glad to be home, because home is great.” Dylan: “Yeah.”

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