Tuesday, June 2, 2015

     Going home is always bittersweet. Leaving my beautiful daughter and my four little cherubs never fails to put a lump in my throat. It’s been a fascinating week full of pool frolicking, hiking, tennis with Mr. Wonderful, running back and forth to school and acting classes, making spaghetti with little helpers who disappear with the sauce spoon and want to hog all the good bread. Just when my patience wears thin, one of them will come up behind me and hug me really tight, and the tears well.

    Yesterday, the two oldest, Mia and Ava, told me they had to sing a song today for their acting coach. Mia, 9, started singing, and she sounded like a rock star. I about fell off my chair. I didn’t even know they could carry a tune. Ava, the ultimate rock star herself who can put together a USA puzzle in 1:39 is the singer and dancer par excellence. She wanted to sing Mia’s song, of course, so the struggle begins. I am thinking “Jesus Loves Me” might be a good choice for her. 

    Row B featured all seven of us lined up in the second row of the movie theatre last night as I howled through Pitch Perfect 2. The seats are recliners, and the twins’ little legs don’t even stretch anywhere near the foot part. We must have made an hilarious picture, each of them chewing popcorn from their huge cardboard platters in their laps. Maybe they ate 1/10th of what was on them. Of course, after the candy, the water, the popcorn and the disaster in the photo booth, they all wanted snacks at 10:45. Oh, my. Parenting is definitely for the young.

    When we arrive home tomorrow (our flight leaves at 1:39 a.m.), we won’t know if the people who viewed our house today will be potential buyers. Mr. Wonderful would love to be homeless asap; moi, notsomuch.  Should be an interesting summer.

     Racing against time with only 34% left on the computer here (I brought the wrong part of the adaptor-oops), I will miss all my girls, especially my daughter with whom I actually got to have considerable dialogue despite her nose being buried in her I-phone 24/7. She can carry on a stimulating conversation, manage children, conduct crisis intervention at work and call the windshield repairman all at once. Oh, my. Makes me tired.

     One more tennis match with Mr. W. today, one more French toast breakfast at the Airport Hangar Cafe where we watch tiny planes take off and land, one more afternoon at the pool where the twins disappear for hours swimming, giggling and waving at us.
One more afternoon debriefing after acting class, and one more group hug, and off we go.


     I may be texting them all from the shelter next month, but poor me, if worse comes to worse, I’ll have to come back to the sunshine to hike the next mountain trail.