|Lovely Girl, #1, #4, #2, #3.|
But last week, when it looked as if Boy#4's work schedule was going to keep him in Texas for the Best Day of the Year rather than in the House on the Corner, I suddenly realized I was homesick. I missed the general chaos that defines the home of four boys. I missed the Friends of Boys who ring the doorbell at all hours of the day and night. (Well, not the morning hours, but all the rest of the hours.) I missed the piles of shoes everywhere, and the total inability to keep milk and Diet Dr. Pepper in sufficient supply. I missed the talk about football and politics, and the arguments over whether Two is still taller than Four.
I missed my Boys and Lovely Girl.
I missed them so much that you may have seen me wiping away a couple of errant tears during my morning walk, all the while telling myself how blessed we are that they are all in good places, even if those places aren't Small Town.
Then, when Four unexpectedly was able to get the holiday off and drove seven hours to surprise his brothers Wednesday afternoon, you may have seen another teardrop or two fall during the bear hugs and shouts. (What? I am not made of stone.)
During the days when the Boys were little I remember occasionally being tempted to swing my arms, just to clear a space around me where no one was touching or clinging and keeping me immobile. I didn't clear out that space, of course, because being within touching distance is part of being a mother. But the memory made me laugh last week as I found myself reaching out for a quick hug or to touch an arm. I had come full circle; now I was the one needing physical reassurance that my loved ones were within arm's length.
For three full days the nest was full again, and it was lovely.