Million Reasons

The moment the Southern California sunshine kissed my face I felt a bit better.

It’s no surprise (I hope) to anyone that being gone for work for several days always makes me a bit anxious, a lot homesick, and incredibly disconnected and by the end of a long week of missing the connections I so desperately need, I have a hard time talking. 

(Yes: me). 

So if you see me at the end of a long few days away and I stutter or seem confused or bewildered- know that I am ready for a mental sabbatical and not ignoring you.  Know that I probably need a hug, a nice story, a few minutes of quiet, maybe something to read or write about. 

When I’m gone for more than a couple days I miss the moments of connection and contentment I get from a warm hug, my kids telling me they love me, my husband kissing my forehead, and enjoying the simple joy of being quiet. 

I came home from a few long days in Chicago and my family welcomed me the way I needed- with hot food and warm, aggressive hugs and sincerely-said “I missed you”. 

I felt a lot better. 

I unintentionally passed out early- not many hours after the warm welcome home- still wearing jeans, on a couch with a too-small blanket.  Like a college-kid after a long night out I slept deeply- unstirred by the sounds of Disney movies or my family’s movement around me. I vaguely heard them in my dream-like slumber. 

I woke at 3 a.m. cramped and uncomfortable. 

I could feel my six year old’s body pushed tightly against my own- her feet to my face... her body contorted against my own body in the center of the couch and with a good half of that couch still empty.

She had plenty of space to stretch out, but she chose to tuck herself as close as possible to me. 

 There were unused beds in bedrooms, but she chose to sleep next to me on a couch. 

In a dreamlike state I thought on this (while also squirming my own body at an attempt to get more comfortable). 

She missed me. 

A lot. 

We’re not much unlike, my daughter and I. 

Our need to be close after time apart.

Our desperate attempts to be near, to feel loved... to be occupying the same space. 

I moved her gently to the end of the couch.

I fell back to sleep.

Still in my jeans.

Had I even brushed my teeth?...

No....

My day-old makeup still affixed to my face. 

I was tired.

I was on a too-small couch sharing a too-small blanket with my still-small daughter. 

I heard her sleepy murmurs.

“Mommy?”

I grunted back and moved my toes slightly to her ribcage so she knew I hadn’t left her on a too-comfy couch alone. 

We drifted for a few hours more.

And at 6 a.m. another, slightly smaller, daughter found us on the couch.

I felt her stare at me in that early morning hour.

I could hear her heavy breathing inches from my face. 

She whispered “mama... mama...mama...”  

I acknowledged her with my eyes still closed, by lifting up a corner of the blanket to welcome her into the 3 inches of unused space against my chest. 

She climbed aboard the too-crammed vessel.

Her body melted into my own.

Her hot breath against my eardrum,

Her soft hands stroked my face,

She traced my chest with her fingertips and said nothing. 

I thought on this tenderness. 

She missed me.

A lot. 

I dared not open my eyes lest she think it was officially time to WAKE UP!

But eventually her sweetness and tender touch led me to whisper “I love you” to which she didn’t hesitate a response: “I luh you”.

The day started shortly thereafter. 

I am finding myself again... among the normalcy of a typical Saturday morning. 

I am feeling re-connected, and less unsettled than the days prior. 

Laundry, breakfast, the sounds of my children entertaining one another...

It’s good to be home.