Wow. This is it.
I'm putting stuff into bags for the 100th time and realizing it is the last. Tomorrow we will be home.
It is hard to see it go. Roman gods and Chinese fishermen and Hawaiian leis and Australian meat pies and running and surfing and dancing and eating and crying...they are continuous, like one long run on sentence, subjects and verbs going over and over and over. And now comes the period.
My kids are scared of going home. Night after night I reassure them that they won't be board at home, that their friends will remember them and that everything will be great. I tuck them in and then I lay in my bed and tell myself the same thing. The known has somehow become unknown. I think about planting trees and painting rooms and the idea seems more foreign then picking up and flying to a new country.
So why are we going home at all? There are logistical reasons and they make enough sense to warrant the return. But over the year of constant motion I have learned that logistics are more fluid then you may guess. I could arrange to keep traveling. Summer is here the kids don't have school for months. We haven't even been to South America this year... and I find myself checking airfare without even noticing I'm doing it. And out of some strange habit I have planned a trip to Peru. But we won't take it. This makes me a little sad. But I think it is good to go home for a while. It gives me a chance to think about what we have done in distinct parts.
People ask me all the time what my favorite part of the trip was. I usually say Vietnam, sometimes Venice. But it really isn't true. My favorite part was my kids.
I loved showing them beautiful things. I loved being there when ugly things were shown. I loved holding their hands while they fell asleep on the airplane and I loved watching them swing their backpacks up and march down the metro so confident and sure. I love that when I was lost in Singapore Eden patted my hand and said "It's okay little Mommy...you are doing the best you can and that is what counts" I loved watching their sketch books fill with drawings from museum after museum. In short, I loved being there as my kids grew up a little bit.
There was this old Italian in Istanbul who asked me why I was traveling for so long. I didn't really have an answer so I did my little laugh and "Hmmm...I don't know" "I do" he said certainly and with an Italian accent "Its so you can have a before and an after"
People give me opinions like this all the time. But this one stuck. I think in part, because it is true. The kids are waking up. I need to pack up the car one last time and drive the remaining 8 hours. And then we will be in the after. The glorious and wonderful after.
Thanks for taking the trip with me.
I'm putting stuff into bags for the 100th time and realizing it is the last. Tomorrow we will be home.
It is hard to see it go. Roman gods and Chinese fishermen and Hawaiian leis and Australian meat pies and running and surfing and dancing and eating and crying...they are continuous, like one long run on sentence, subjects and verbs going over and over and over. And now comes the period.
My kids are scared of going home. Night after night I reassure them that they won't be board at home, that their friends will remember them and that everything will be great. I tuck them in and then I lay in my bed and tell myself the same thing. The known has somehow become unknown. I think about planting trees and painting rooms and the idea seems more foreign then picking up and flying to a new country.
So why are we going home at all? There are logistical reasons and they make enough sense to warrant the return. But over the year of constant motion I have learned that logistics are more fluid then you may guess. I could arrange to keep traveling. Summer is here the kids don't have school for months. We haven't even been to South America this year... and I find myself checking airfare without even noticing I'm doing it. And out of some strange habit I have planned a trip to Peru. But we won't take it. This makes me a little sad. But I think it is good to go home for a while. It gives me a chance to think about what we have done in distinct parts.
People ask me all the time what my favorite part of the trip was. I usually say Vietnam, sometimes Venice. But it really isn't true. My favorite part was my kids.
I loved showing them beautiful things. I loved being there when ugly things were shown. I loved holding their hands while they fell asleep on the airplane and I loved watching them swing their backpacks up and march down the metro so confident and sure. I love that when I was lost in Singapore Eden patted my hand and said "It's okay little Mommy...you are doing the best you can and that is what counts" I loved watching their sketch books fill with drawings from museum after museum. In short, I loved being there as my kids grew up a little bit.
There was this old Italian in Istanbul who asked me why I was traveling for so long. I didn't really have an answer so I did my little laugh and "Hmmm...I don't know" "I do" he said certainly and with an Italian accent "Its so you can have a before and an after"
People give me opinions like this all the time. But this one stuck. I think in part, because it is true. The kids are waking up. I need to pack up the car one last time and drive the remaining 8 hours. And then we will be in the after. The glorious and wonderful after.
Thanks for taking the trip with me.
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