First, thank you all so much for your comments, emails, twitters etc of congratulation to Saturday’s news.
To celebrate I thought it would be fun to get up at 4.45am Sunday morning, charge out to the airport, drag along a daughter who was crying because daddy was out of her sight for five seconds, and a son who sat in the Daytona car ride shouting BROOM! BROOM! BROOM! to a gate full of tired adults who hadn’t had their coffees yet, and some looked like they hadn’t even gone to bed. Like two particularly striking lovebirds sitting outside Hudsons Coffee, who’d fallen asleep leaning against each other’s shoulders, looking like living artwork, each limb, each expression just perfect as they sat there, oblivious.
Of course, our trip away wasn’t that spontaneous, but it was close. The kids and I are home with mum for a quick visit; a visit to a house I left with such recent painful memories that some people asked me, “Won’t it feel weird to go back there?”
I’mtryingnottothinkaboutitbutthanksforbringingitup
“I hope not.”
So far we’ve had visits to the farm, pulled fireweed and used grappling hooks to get the high oranges off the trees; egg-collected and fed birds; cows spotted and kangaroos counted.
The kids are in heaven and it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.
I’m sitting here in my chair, exhausted, teetering between wanting to work and keeping up momentum and wanting to cast it aside and just enjoy. Take in the place, all of it, dad’s stuff, everything.
And I think I will.
