Today I go pick up The Ravishing Mrs. TB and Na Clann from the airport from their visit to the land of Mouse Ears.
It's been an interesting six days, made all the more interesting that three of the days were either the weekend or a holiday. For once in a long while I can make the statement that I plenty of time to get done what I needed to do.
And was it a productive time? Yes. I got a great deal done over the weekend: Planned my garden and planted some peppers and tomatoes, made two kinds of cheese, took care of the pets, weed-ate (past tense of weed-eat?) the backyard, went to church, went to Half Price Books (twice), had breakfast and coffee with Snowflake, read, watched four movies (for me, that's like four months' worth), made the decision to self-publish and started the process of actually getting the book ready (I have an ISBN!), caught up 9 months of finances, practiced Iaido, and even got to sleep 8 hours of sleep a night. A pretty productive time indeed.
But even with all this productivity, all this energy, all this time to do what I want to do, there has been a sense of missing something in my life. That something is my family.
It's odd. When everyone is here, I sometimes cannot take the level of noise. Sometimes the state of the house frustrates me. Alone time becomes something that I actively seek out to (probably) retreat from the seeming chaos.
But in the chaos is the very thing that I need: relationships. Roles. Even Responsibilities. Occasionally fun as well. But always Love.
So I'll go to the airport tonight, pick everyone up, and be regaled with stories of rides and experiences and rainstorms and how tired we all are. Everyone will eat and then sleep, and I'll be left in the silence of the house once again.
But a house full, rather than a house empty.