I have several photos on my camera begging to be shared in this space right now, so we're going for the multiple moments of coming home and finding out what has been --err-- unwinding in one's absence.
I cried on the way to the airport. All those trips back and forth--the sendoff, the awesome visit, the too-short Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, the sister trip, the Nicky trip, Spain, Brazil, Holland,--all of it played as a montage in my mind. And I was just so glad that this ticket home was a one-way ticket. At least for now.
Sometime in the middle of February or so, I sent Paddy a picture text when we were at Rita's Italian Ice. He'd been telling me about Rita's for years, having had the experience in distant towns. We have one locally now and I wanted to tell him how heartily I agreed with his assessment that it is awesome. The text made him sad. I was instantly sorry I had shared where we were and what we were doing without him. So, I promised we'd go the minute he came home. We went to Rita's directly from the airport.
Pick Up Happiness.
Pretty sure I just did.
At home, Patrick sized up the swift that has taken up nearly permanent residence on the kitchen table. He wanted a demo.
After Gracie got home, we settled into our customary knitting time. Patrick wandered in and didn't know quite what to do with himself. So he did what came naturally--the habit that has a long and storied history. He opened the yarn cabinet and took out a "ball." And he juggled it. With his feet. Declared it not round enough.
Took out another.
No! I hastened to put an end to that. It's Malabrigo. you can't play with it.
He picked up another ball. Declared it the most superior for juggling purposes. He asked what kind it was.
You know, chimed in Nicholas helpfully, like Dan Marino.
Indeed. Just like that.