going home

Mother daughter weekends are different when your carload  represents your whole family. The women I was with this weekend are both married and also have young sons- so they left half of themselves behind, to take the dog for walks, re-seed the grass,  go to hockey tryouts and fix a few things around the house.  I don’t have anyone to call home to, to check up on or to ask to pull the roast out of the freezer  and later pop into the oven. The home you leave behind is empty and lifeless and  without attention.

This is not anything more than an observation. It does not make me sad in the way you think it might.   I am often shocked at how happy I am, as though I am  waking up each day to every possibility .  But when I walk into my home I must turn on the lights  and bring in the energy.  I do love entering a home in mid activity, with something cooking and some excitement before me.

On the way home, my friend beside me in the front seat, I listened to the way she spoke to her husband tenderly directing him to the dinner plans and the things that needed to be done. She listened to his stories of what she missed. I sat quietly thinking ‘what the heck am I going to make for dinner tonight?’

My phone rang as if  in response to this question. It was my dear friend and neighbour (see family is content not form) asking me if we could join her and her daughters for dinner. She is roasting chickens, making salad and I will bring potatoes, veggies, strawberries and cold beer.

I am going home to someone.

click here for my  latest post on Urbanmoms “who is driving the bus?