The magic thing

about home is that it feels good to leave, and it feels even better to come back. ~Wendy Wunder

(A bonfire blazes on a chilly autumn evening)

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When we left North Carolina’s Outer Banks on October 20 and aimed our 21-foot Airstream travel trailer (affectionately named Nelly) north, it was with the intention of spending the four weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving with our families. In total, Todd and I have spent over two months on the road this year, and as much as I love leaving, coming home to my family in Rhode Island enriches me. For me, that means spending time with my three adult children and five grandchildren. Todd’s lucky to still have his mom and sister living nearby and his daughter within driving distance. (We got to visit his brother when we were down south last month.)

Halloween was a hoot hanging out with my son, Matthew, and his wife, Felicity. Growing up on a horse farm, a mile off a main road and far off the beaten track, not once did we see trick-or-treaters at our front door, so my husband and I chose to drive Matthew and his two sisters to one of several densely populated neighborhoods where many of their friends and classmates lived.

Fast forward, and perhaps with a nod to the cluster development we couldn’t provide decades ago, Matthew and Felicity reside in one of those bustling neighborhoods with plenty of toddlers and school-age kids. Todd and I parked our chairs in their garage and driveway and enjoyed Felicity’s creamy chicken chili, sliced sourdough bread, and the super-sized brownies that we contributed to the mix. My son’s irreverent sense of humor kept us belly-laughing until the revelers trickled down to just a few older kids.

It’s always a small miracle when my adult children choose me over everything else they could be doing.

Last Saturday, my middle child, my daughter, Lindsey, and her husband, Cooper, and their two-year-old son came to visit and have dinner with us. My one-floor cottage is small: a kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms totaling a mere 400 square feet, compared to their 2500-square-foot new build. While I can’t offer a lot in the way of real estate, my heart is full when I know they’re on their way and finally pull into the driveway. I made one of my specialties: sausage pie, with a tossed salad and homemade banana bread for dessert.

Todd, the master fire-starter, had built a bonfire before they got here, and it was blazing by the time my grandson laid his big, bright eyes on it. And because of the time change, by 4:30 it was almost dark. We hung out outside as long as we could, and then moved inside, where Carla, my aging queen of the covers, was love-bombed by my grandson, who smothered her in soft pets and gentle kisses.

(Be still, my heart. My oldest daughter, Katie, son-in-law Dave, and their crew on their annual trek to Vermont)

How do I even describe the thrill I get on Wednesday mornings when I pull into the driveway of my oldest daughter’s sprawling property and see my grandson rush out of doors to greet me and ask for an Ice Breaker cool mint? Or when my athletic middle granddaughter wants to show off her ability to punt a football or make a basket? I am fortunate to babysit a few hours for the youngest member of their tribe. My heart melts when I spot her two bare feet, running out to be scooped up in my arms.

Last week, while three of them, and Wally, their senior lab, encircled me, I looked up and saw Katie’s beautiful firstborn, now ten years old, waving to me from the plate-glass window of her second-floor bedroom. Where does the time go?

Volumes have been written about mothers and daughters and the emotional tug-of-war that can sometimes impede connection. I experienced a disconnect with my own mother over the years, that is, until I had children of my own, and a knowing, an understanding, a kinship ignited a bond between us that remained unbroken until her passing in 2016. Katie and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder: two women with insatiable reading habits, opposing yet respectful political ideologies, and quick wits that can sometimes cut to the quick.

It’s always a small miracle when my adult children choose me over everything else they could be doing.

And thank you, dear reader, for being here.