Home. We are home after a planned-last-minute trip to my husband's parent's farm. Back near my old stomping grounds. It's always fun to visit. The kids become country-kids for a few days....playing outside, driving small motors, getting wood ticks, getting dirty, eating like royalty, and l.o.v.i.n.g. EVERY minute of it. My son cried the night before we were to leave. Our place is boring. We don't have tadpoles. Or the biggest coolest playhouse you've ever seen. Or three wheelers.
When he's big, he's building a house right next to theirs. I'm guessing it will be attached somehow, so he can run over for breakfast every morning. "Where's my sausages?"
I was able to run into town and see a girlfriend for lunch....which is always super fun. Fun to eat the food that I dream about, with the secret sauce I suspect contains heroin, as your body nearly aches to eat it again...or to just drink it plain. And it's great to be able to catch up and chat like only minutes have passed since your last visit. I love that.
I tried to do a pop in on another friend, which felt like the meanest thing in the world to do. With out a 15 minute phone call warning...to allow for the mad dash toy pickup. Something tells me, this gal wouldn't have needed it. She wasn't home, and I didn't go and peek into her windows, but everything on the outside suggested perfection on the inside. Right down to the most adorable little dog in the window.
I also tried to see a cousin and aunt, but they were out and about....I really need to learn to use my phone. But somehow, just being near their homes felt like I had connected with them.
It's really a blast to go and visit the place of our youth, but I like coming home, too. Now to tackle that mountain of laundry. :)