Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Week 17

This week, we were all a bit underwhelmed by our return to normalcy.  Strangely, I was completely comforted by this fact.  I’m not sure what I expected to feel upon re-arrival into Heathrow, but I was kind of pleasantly surprised by my relief to be “home.”  So we still have loose ends to be tied up dangling every which way I look, our nest could use a little fluffing (read:  the flat continues to look like we only just unpacked and stopped, which . . . well . . . we kind of did actually), I still haven’t managed to visit Buckingham Palace or Westminster Abbey, my outerwear could use some revamping to fit the weather extremities, and I don’t know nearly enough British colloquialisms to impress my wanna-be-British-lad big brother, BUT, somehow, at some point during the last 3 months, we managed to make ourselves at home, literally.  I don’t think you can ever fully feel comfortable living out of a suitcase (unless, of course, you are on some beautiful white sandy island with turquoise water and the contents of your suitcase includes a couple of bikinis, some shorts and tank tops, a pair of flip flops, and sunscreen) even if it is only for 2 weeks and even if it is in said wanna-be-British-lad's beautiful, immaculate and roomy resort house surrounded by the warmest, most welcoming family.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to come back to London.  After the last few months, normalcy is bliss.  Maybe I would’ve felt differently if we had gone to California for Christmas, so I’m glad we didn’t, but even then I’m not sure.  Yes, our memories as a family are there, some of our best friends are there, the Pacific Ocean, Wine Country, and abundant sunshine is there, maybe even my heart is there, hell, maybe Liam’s too . . . but . . . someone else is living in our little house.  Our little green house with white gingerbread trim perched up on the hill, where we used to sit on the front steps with a glass of red wine, a California Pinot no doubt, and watch a young Liam toddle around in the front yard as the sun sunk into the Pacific Ocean with a sigh of contentment.  That’s not a scene in which we belong anymore.  Some other young couple is starting their life together on those steps now.  We wouldn't fit in that house anymore anyway with all of Liam's legos!  I have come to the conclusion, home actually isn’t where the heart is.  I’m not sure I’ve ever really liked that saying anyway.  Home is where you can throw all your crap on the floor at the end of a long day, where you can walk around in your jammies drinking coffee and eating cereal straight from the box all day without a sideways glance from anyone, where you tuck your little guy into bed every night with familiar blankets and all requisite stuffed animals at arm’s length, in essence, where you unpack all your stuff, set up fort, and make a life.  Home is here.  For now.  Your heart can be anywhere.  I guess that doesn’t really fit on a bumper sticker as well.  And so to our painstakingly mundane and uninteresting to anyone but the 3 of us routine we have gladly returned and now we cast our eyes to the year ahead.  It’s going to be a good one . . . full of photography and hopefully, an improved repertoire of British jargon!
Week 17
Liam's interpretation of what to do after you've scored a soccer goal.  Something I'm sure he'll be perfecting soon enough!
Week 17 IMG_3348
*Sigh*  I suppose I should get my cute little hobbit a haircut...
IMG_3345 IMG_3391 IMG_3396 IMG_3384 Week 171 IMG_3385 IMG_3414 IMG_3448 IMG_3417

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