Coming Home

Geoff and I returned home quite late on Friday night from an obligatory highly anticipated family reunion, which is another story in itself, but I am court ordered not to discuss any of the incidents, at least until the investigation is concluded, and possibly til they go to trial.
OK so it wasn't that bad.

But anyways.
We got home at ten, our children sleepy and smelling like Off!. I carried Alex in the back door with his head resting on my shoulder. The low lighting of the kitchen greeted me. I felt immediately a sense of relief and something else- comfort, security. I surveyed my kitchen- tidy but not clean (never clean), but still appealing-- much more appealing, in fact, than when I had left it mere hours before. Maybe it was just the wine talking. But still- there seemed something so charming about the buttery yellow on the walls. The cappuccino dining table, adorned with the bright blue ceramic bowl we bought in Mexico which currently contained three overripe bananas and some stray Monopoly money. Our black cat perched on top of the fridge, eyes half opened and half closed, green crescents reflecting back at us. Our little dog at our heels, the weight of our baby our baby on my hip, my husband at my side. There seemed something perfect about that moment in time. There are lots of things and lots of times that aren't perfect, but in that moment, there was something that was.

Tomorrow is back to work for me. Holidays over. But considering that I've spent much of my time thus far uttering sentences like:
"No shut up words"
"No hate words"
"No hitting to mom. Mommy ouchy now."
"No throwing at mom."
"No climbing on the table"
"Did you wipe your bum?"
I think I'm ready to go back.

Have a good night.