Home Again, Home Again

Here we are, back at Square One. But not exactly. The original Square One was vibrantly full of hopes and possibilities, but this impostor Square One is full of improbabilities and dreams gone by.

Home alone, just like we started out. Except that when we started out we didn't know our kidlets, and you don't miss what you don't know.

That we made it home all by our low-tech selves in this high-tech world is a relief and a bit of a wonder. We were without the benefit of any kind of escort, but we were fortified and well-armed with printouts from Google and flight confirmation numbers, courtesy of our travel agent who is now interned at West Point. How quickly one comes to depend on one's kidlets, and how would it look if one of them had to come to our rescue?!

At home all was well. Well, mostly. The dog and the garden were taken care of, and all of our cars were still here. But then I noticed the egg shells on the porch. And the dried egg running down the wall. And the other broken egg shell and dried egg on the War Wagon. Other than that, nothing else appeared broken or broken into.

So now I can add "scrub egg off house and van" to my list. I'll get right on it, as soon as I deal with the three suitcases, the three briefcases, the two new totes, the untold quantities of laundry (most of which is another empty-nest reminder), the mile-high mail pile, the long list of phone calls to return, and of course the refrigerator to restock. Oh, and don't forget the purse to clean out!

Home again, home again.