The lilacs and the lilies of the valley and the grandparents holding their grand babies. The look on Will’s face when he saw his first real firetruck. The way Shiloh laughs when the cool Wisconsin breezes kiss her cheeks.
I do not love these transition seasons. We are, for all intensive purposes, very well-off homeless people right now living out of suitcases. When we finish our tour-des-grandparents next month, we won’t be going home per se, but rather to a very (lovely) empty apartment in a new city in a foreign country.
It’s exciting if I focus on the gelato and espresso. It’s terrifying when I think about cleaning our new apartment, unpacking 10,000+ pounds of stuff, finding a grocery store, a pediatrician and a preschool in a foreign language while balancing two kids on my hips. I speak no Italian and whenever I try, it’s Chinese that comes out.
I’ve been waking up early for the past few weeks at my parents’ house. I have one kid’s feet in my face and the other snuggling so close to me it’s as if she’s trying to find a way back into the womb. I panic for a moment as I mentally reach for my to-do list and realize there is absolutely nothing on it that I can tackle right now.
And then I take a deep breath and clean air fills my lungs, I carefully stretch my legs to feel the deliciously cool crisp sheets at the end of the bed. Warm sleeping lumps of baby love drape over my shoulders and pin me to the bed. The early morning sunlight paints stripes of gold on the wood floor, the white curtains whisper at the windows and the smell of lilacs dances on the breeze.
It’s good to be here. And since we reunited with Chris approximately 3 hours ago, it’s been so very much better still. We missed having him around so much the last few weeks but now that he’s here it feels like we are finally really “on vacation.”
And obviously it’s not all romantic old-fashioned blossoms around here. We’ve seen Thomas the Train, visited a fire station and gotten Will hooked on Five Guys French fries. Will’s devotion to his grandfather’s morning Starbucks ritual is bordering on religious. And I don’t have to tell you how many trips we’ve already made to Target– although I blame at least six of them on “Delhi goggles” and a temporary inability to comprehend that we really can buy diapers, nightgowns, vitamins, toys, lipstick, organic fruit snacks and blue mason jars all in one shopping trip to just one store.
America the beautiful. Its good to be back at least for a little while.