Yesterday afternoon, we were dropped off at our front stoop — suitcases, strollers, carseats, and all. Home.
I walked through the house and was amazed at their welcoming tidiness, considering the ridiculously early hour at which we departed 18 days ago (and the crazy, hectic, hot day of packing which preceded it!) I thought, for the millionth time, how much I like our little house and how blessed I am to have this quiet piece of charm in the middle of Silicon Valley.
I also noticed that the perennials I planted several months ago are all but dead, thanks to 18 days of no water. (Things no one on the East Coast has had to worry about this year.) I hope I can coax the poor things back to green leafiness.
Jameson tripped happily from room to room, exclaiming in each one. “My bedwoom, Mama! Awww!”
We got home around 5 PST, and I was more hungry and tired than I ever remember being. So we jumped into our van and headed into Palo Alto for good ol’ Thai cooking. Followed, of course, by Red Mango. I struggled to keep my burning eyes open, and when the exhaustion was so bad I was sick and dizzy, I asked Ryan what time it was.
6:30, was his reply.
I could have cried. Please, just let me go to bed.
I managed to stick it out for two more hours before climbing between my very own sheets, in my very own room.
Of course, after making myself lay in bed for as long as possible this morning, when I got up, it was still only 5:45. That’s what ya get for going to bed so early, I guess.
Green is my favorite color. Did you know that already? I only mention that because I can’t begin to describe the beauty of our first ride through lush, verdant farms 18 days ago. I couldn’t stop exclaiming. In fact, I continued to exclaim every single day for 18 days. I am probably alone in this, but I was thanking God continually for the abundant rain that kept New York beautiful, just for me. I can’t get enough.
I also can’t get enough of neat rows of corn; of small, humble houses tucked away in that corn; of hostas and day lilies, cone flowers and gloriosa daisies; of moist, sweet air and loud cracks of thunder; of wide open skies that turn pink in the evening. There are just some things I love so much.
In particular, I love a certain white house with a red roof, wrapped in a porch that I’ve painted countless times. I love a certain hallway, lined with too many shoes, that got painted a perfect salmon color the week of my wedding. I love a certain kitchen that feels like I belong, even though I can’t find a single thing anymore. I love a certain screened porch that’s quiet in the mornings and the site of a party of sorts every night. And I love knowing that upstairs, there’s my parents’ bedroom, where the door is always open (so to speak), and the bed is an invitation to sit and talk — or just to sit and be.
I just wish these two homes were not so far apart. I wish I could hang diapers in a row on my clothesline, and then walk to my mom’s for lunch. Wouldn’t that be perfect?