I got home at 6 o’clock tonight and due to good fortune my family was out on the tail-end of a grocery errand. I brought in my coffee cup, my overnight bag, and the batch of thrift-store clothes I’d bought with Kelly (all purchased for a miraculous $2 at Mom and Dad’s Discount store in some buttfuck-nowheresville around Fife). Changed into PJs. Ignored the computer for a while.
The family arrived about fifteen minutes later and the kids raced through the house to find me, excited the family van was back (and therefore Mama was home). Both children climbed into my arms and held me tight. I heard my husband say, “Welcome back.” The sound of his voice is balm to my ears.
It’s strange – because I loved my trip, I had a great time, and no discomfort whatsoever, I’ll do something similar soon. But holding my family in my arms was like getting gulps of fresh air after being underwater.
Now, it’s time to snuggle with kids and husband in thick socks with a glass of red vino. Yeah, I can still bring the rock – and all it entails – but I’m the soul of domesticity the next day.