The Way It Should Be

Staying in a hotel with a big family is hard.

There aren't enough beds, so there's always a heated discussion about who gets the sleeping bags. Babies don't fall asleep when they should, and the room temperature tends to be too hot for some and too cold for others.

Still, I've always loved one aspect of staying in hotels with my family--I could reach out and touch every one of them.

Last night at 6:08, Boy#2 and Husband (formerly known as Boy the Eldest) walked in the back door. They had driven 3 1/2 days from Two's internship in California, surviving tire problems and temperatures that were 15 degrees higher every day they moved closer to the Kansas heat wave.

You know that sound a padlock makes when you've turned to the first number, spun it back a full turn and past to the next number, then back to the the final number and the tumblers click into place? That was the sound my psyche made at that moment. Everything felt the way it should be again.

That is assuming the way it should be is raucous, deafening, crowded, and filled with computer cables. Within minutes Two and Three were in front of the Wii, giggling uncontrollably and swinging the controllers as if they were castanets. Four was the cheerleader, and One was setting the table for supper. The decibel level elevated geometrically and in proportion with the computer boxing.

The non-stop babble continued through supper. Two loved California and his job, although the summer of research didn't solve the project he was working on ("but I think they pretty much expected that"). In this day of instant communications and unlimited texting, there is no catching up to be done, only joy in breathing the same air again.

And as I did when they were babies and we were all in the same hotel room, every so often I reached out and touched one of them, knowing we only have a few hours all together before the next journeys begin.

The boys are back in town.