Home again, home again, jiggedy jog...

Yesterday

Clifford the Big Red Dog captivates Ewan with his naked butt (how does he always end up without pants under my watch?).  Iris, swaddled and fed, swings with half-open eyes under her fish mobile. Tomorrow morning I'll sit amidst colleagues at school planning the agenda for the new teacher training and my time with my niece and nephew will seem a distant memory.

Today

I just returned from my first work meeting of the new school year.  A pedagogical "to-do" list gathers length in my mind, an empty pasta bowl and near-finished bag of pita chips lie at my side, bright yellow "welcome home" daisys burst from their vase.  Yesterday, I left the comforts of an air-conditioned home filled with three adults, two children and four animals to return to my home with Daniel.  A bright, hot, slightly disheveled home that throughout the day fills with KCRW, a gentle breeze, and often silence.  I am keenly aware right now just how quiet my home is.  Sheer golden curtains flutter in front of an open window, the wall clock steadily ticks, and the neighbor's tree rustles in the wind.

City life; albeit familiar is always an adjustment ---delivered this morning with my first traffic-filled drive up the 405 freeway.  No more picturesque sunrises that bring the velvet carpet of grass and gushing field sprinklers into light along a lightly traveled two lane road (occasionally shared with tractors).  No more salmon hued whispy clouds that dot the Kititas Valley sky as I push the stroller along a shady creek.  No more toddlers who ask for ticklebumps or babies whose lips smack wildly as the bottle warms.  But I am glad to be home.  Grateful this morning at 5:30 as the cell phones began their alarm duet, that I could nestle into Daniel's arms and have my first glimpse of the day be his faint stubble grin.  Energized to find the equipment and weights in all their proper places at the gym.  Enthusiastic to begin a discussion of how to best help the new teachers join our merry staff.

There is really no way to ever make geographical distance painless.  With all of our modern advances, I already can't remember exactly how Iris' eyebrows arch right before she smiles or recall Ewan's squeel as the horse draws near.  I'll look back on pictures, blog posts, and journal entries...but if another whole year passes between visits, a pre-schooler and walking baby will meet me.

Part of me always wishes I could pick up a map, pinch Washington and California, and simply smoosh them together...completely ignoring the boisterous protests in Northern California and Oregon.  Northwest liberals are very noisy...and I suppose it would throw off agriculture and ecosystems; however, it would mean I could run over there tonight and finish that last serving of peach cobbler hiding in the tupperware on the second shelf.  I could watch Ewan's face chortle with glee as Shane tickles him at the dinner table.  I could sample one more batch of my Mom's homemade ice-cream.  I could be an active participant in my brother's family and not just a visitor who comes once a year.

But one never knows where the journey will lead.  We may end up on Mercer Island or Catalina, driving to work on the 90 or the 91, living in a cramped apartment in Noe Valley or a spacious house overlooking the Columbia.  No matter where we settle, I can't fathom seeing them less than once a year.  That's my absolute max...when I start to get that ache deep in my chest and squeeze the children a little too hard at the airport.  Oh, I miss them already. 

With a tinge of sadness, I'm off to take one of those rare and relished summer naps that the school year does not permit.