Spring break is over and we’re back home, and as usual, I’m having a hard time adjusting to reality. Not that my daily life is so bad–believe me, I know how lucky I am–but even the best reality is just that. Real.
I downloaded a few final Sea World photos–yes, we returned for a third (fourth?) visit–and became instantly nostalgic. Not only for those blissful and carefree days, but also for what they represent. Mateo and Olivia at six and eight, young enough to be enchanted by the umpteenth showing of Pets Rule, happy to pose in front of the skeleton teeth of a great white shark, and delighted at the prospect of digging into a sticky sweet cloud of blue cotton candy. These days won’t last forever. 
The drive home was an adventure. Ten hours in the minivan, listening to Shakira and Taylor Swift, and singing along with Sol y Canto, interspersed with movies shown on the portable DVD player. Tim, the kids, and I know every rest stop, vending machine, and greasy spoon. We anticipate the Grapevine, the Rainbow Bridge, and the red-and-white mints inside the ceramic boot next to the cash register at the diner in Buttonwillow. In our case, the journey matters as much as the arrival.
Tomorrow, I’ll get back to the world of blogging about adoption. That’s the plan, anyway.
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