Coming Home

One of the trickiest things about divorce is the requirement to share the things you have an undying mutual love for.  It's not always hard, but it's not always easy-peasy.  After seven years, I am skilled, but certainly not a master.

My kids have been gone since Boxing Day.  That's exactly seven days, and that's exactly my limit before missing them becomes too much for me.

I got a message from them at 12:03 this morning, wishing me a Happy New Year, and I cried tears as the New Year rang in, as missing them was beginning to consume me.  I waited all day for them to come home, anticipating hugs and kisses and smothering cuddles.  And when they walked through the door, my gratitude level was like the strong man hammer ringing the bell at the fair.

I am grateful for my kids coming home.  I am grateful that we missed each other, and I am grateful for the sleep we shall all have under one roof.

I miss my kids when they are gone, and I am grateful for them coming home.

I didn't even mind playing Uno for two hours, most of the time loosing to my daughter.  In fact, I enjoyed every second - because we were home.