Coming Home

The house is still and quiet. Only the fan turns silently above me chasing the evening heat to the far edges of the room. The computer hums softly at my feet, and outside, the cicadas' screeching has been replaced by the song of the crickets.

It is night and I am home. In the days to come I will record the adventures and misadventures of my trip to Utah. But for tonight, I will write about home.

This morning I was greeted by the padding of footed-pajama feet, wobbly but brave and continuous. A new sound.

Baby C gave me kisses all day long. "Mah!" Across the room, from her high chair, and on my cheeks and hands. Her tiny head rested on my shoulder, her fine blond hair tickled my chin. She babbled with purpose, then looked at me expectantly as if to say, "Look what I have learned!" and scolding, "Where have you been?!"

We picked raspberries in the morning haze - all seven of us, lifting thorny branches, searching for the ruby red jewels hiding beneath green prickly leaves. T-man and Meya showed me "how it's done." T-man instructed with his deep little voice, full of authority: "Some need a couple more days. When they fall into your hands, they're ready."

Meya was my shadow, happy to follow me around the house while Dad took the rest of the kids on a bike ride. Who knew unpacking could be so fun?

I marveled at my Hubby's industriousness. A cleaner, rearranged basement. A new white shoe cubby to help contain the shoe chaos. T-man and Meya's completed workbook pages. A stocked fridge. And a fresh trench dug along the side of the house for the gutter drain.

My sunny yellow front room greeted me cheerily each time I walked passed or through.

My Hubby and I bumped elbows in our small kitchen, jockeying for counter space as we made dinner together. We feasted on marinated chicken from the grill, thick slices of tomatoes just picked from the garden, steaming rice, and Indian curry spinach with chickpeas. We finished with gooey chocolate chip cookies bars made by T-man (I merely supervised).

I tucked each child in bed, read "The Penderwicks" (who had waited so patiently for my return), and sang individual lullabies. As I kissed their heads, their hair still damp from tubby time, I breathed in the sweet soap smell.

It is so good to be home.