So. Three nights away from home and many memories from Sunday, I am back. The past few days have been a blur of reunion and resting, mixed with the life of a one-month-old baby (sleep, cry, eat; sleep, cry, eat) and the activities of a two-year-old I love with all my heart.
There was a lot of driving: 315 miles in the rain there, 150 or so miles in the rain between, 350 blessed miles of sunshine back. To be honest, there are very few things in this world that could make me want to drive such long distances, especially mostly on my own, especially in pouring rain, especially when I’m already exhausted. But here are two of them that, quite seriously, would be worth driving through the world’s worst snowstorm or in hours of unending traffic.
The first, the beautiful baby girl that looks just like her brother did when he was born and that bears her grandma’s name, who makes noises and stretches her arms and rolls around while sleeping, as pictured here:
The second, her brother, my all-time favorite toddler, who greeted me every morning by chanting my name, to which I’d respond with his, creating a sort of Marco Polo game all our own (he’ll be a cowboy come Halloween and here he is in his costume):
I could tell you a lot of things about these kids, about why I love them and their family, about the things we did together over the last few days, from an arcade to dinner out to visiting grandparents. I could tell you that there’s nothing quite as inspiring, food-wise, as watching a two-year-old react to a bite of a tasty breadstick. But instead, I’ll just tell you this: I have come out of this weekend remembering all the wonderful things of life, the beauty of a family that sacrifices for each other, the blessings of being loved.
More to come.