Tomorrow I will be going to Florida. My daughter and I have been planning for this trip for several months now and we are both getting quite excited. It’s my eldests’, Jenny, 40th birthday. Now for my husband this means, five days to not have to worry about whether his helicopter parts are spread all over my table. He won’t have to wonder if I am going to be under foot. He won’t wonder if he is going to come upstairs and get the evil eye because he just walked over my freshly scrubbed kitchen floor.
For me, it means 34 hours, in totality, of traveling. It means coming home to a house that looks at least five times worse than the day I left. It means coming home and doing tons of laundry and dishes.
In all reality, it also means coming home to a man who just wants to hug me and lies well when he says how much he missed me, and makes me feel good.
Now don’t get me wrong. I want, and very much so, to go see my daughter and spend this special birthday with her. I want to be first, after her spouse of course, to hug her and say happy birthday. I want to sit and reminisce with her and my other daughter, Carey, about when they were little and I’ll embarrass her by telling her what a cute little cherub she was.
I will be with some of my favorite people. My two daughters, my grandson and his girlfriend, my eldest son and his wife, and my daughter-in-law. I know we’ll have a blast. I know it will be non-stop chaos and laughter and maybe an occasional grumble between them.
But above all, I also know, I am already beginning to miss home and the best part of going to Florida is knowing that I will soon be back home, listening to my husband singing off key, cleaning up after him, and once again having the joy of reading what you write.
Happy Reading and Writing