Only a few hours ago did I park the car in the driveway after ten days on the road. We’ve had ten days of fun, excitement, adventures and bliss. I hope Son will cherish the memories for as long as his two-year-old brain is able to store them. The days have been packed and the two of us have not been apart for more than a few minutes every day. After a very busy year I’ve loved spending that much time with Son, but at the same time I’ve had very little time to myself. Hubby Dear has been at work and thus couldn’t come with us.
We came home late this evening, and although Son has at several occasions today exclaimed that he missed his bed at home, he had no intention of getting any sleep after the joyful reunion. But now, the house is quiet. I’ve unpacked everything that needed to be unpacked immediately, set a dough to rise overnight and am now planning on reuniting myself with my bed and pillow.
I’d forgotten my book in the car and while walking the few metres from the door to the garage, tranquility set in. The sky is cloudy and grey, the air is fresh and it is just warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt. The lawn is overgrown, the flowers and bushes have lived and done exactly as they’ve pleased for a while and look very different to how they looked when we left. It has obviously been raining a lot while we’ve been gone. All potted plants are nearly dead from drowning, in contrast to the plants inside that are almost dead from lack of water. The neighbourhood is quiet, Son is sleeping inside and I’m home.
I’ll now creep down under the huge duvet, open the window up wide to let the summer-night air in, read a few pages and sleep, for as long as Son allows, in my own bed. There really is no place like home.
