Friday, January 20, 2012
Glinda, the Good Witch of the North was right-there really isn’t a place as wonderful as home. No matter how much you love where you visit, no matter how much you’ll miss those you leave behind or the sites you wish you could just look at for a bit more, once you’re on your way home, you can’t wait until you’ve arrived. It doesn’t matter how you want to drink in every moment of your time with those you love and no longer live near you either.
At least for me it works out that way. I could hardly wait to see our daughter, son-in-law and grandkids. Really. I was doing a countdown. The bags were packed, I was on the airline site 30 seconds before the 24 hour mark to print up my boarding pass and I could hardly wait until I saw our daughter in the pick-up lane of Sky Harbor Airport.
The week went by so fast I thought it was the clichéd “blink of an eye” and then, before I knew what was happening-I found my alarm going off at the ungodly hour of 5:20 a.m. and there I was back at the airport!
I found that first I missed my husband’s snoring. That happened on the second night. Then I realized that despite our daughter’s little American Eskimo cuddling up to me all night long-she wasn’t the same as having my arm pinned into a position that allowed our tabby to sleep alongside my body with his paws wrapped around my neck while he slept and sighed in my face all night.
Nope, not the same.
It was also not the same to have my precious little dividends come in at 7:30 and ask me ever so quietly, “Grandma-is that you in there sleeping? Are you up yet Grandma?” instead of hearing my husband’s ringtone of an Avril Lavigne song jar me out of a sound sleep.
Nicer, but definitely not the same.
And despite the trip to Wal-Mart to buy myself a mock version of the temper-pedic pillow like the one I sleep on at home-it was not the same to my neck and back as the authentic one that allows me to wake up without feeling as if I’ve somehow medically severed my neck from my spinal column. The bed wasn’t exactly lulling me to sleep either.
Skyping isn’t the same as talking to my husband face-to-face or kissing him goodnight. Making dinner in our daughter’s kitchen doesn’t have the same appeal as working in my own space either. And I’m not even going to discuss the differences in the master shower or the laundry room.
Having our daughter live so far away is lonely and troublesome-I miss her and the family desperately, but when I’m there, all I can think about is that I miss my husband/home and my life in Orange County.
I’m a creature of habit as well as a complete and utterly boring homebody-in a good way.
At least to me.