Leaving my Tribe

I’m not normally this caffeinated and I’m feeling tachycardic when I set out today for home. It’s a little shy of six hours with no traffic but I know with an almost three year old in-tow and accounting for my walnut sized bladder … well it could be almost seven hours.

The night before our departure my inclination is to burn rubber as early as possible. When I wake up though, I’m confronted with the ache of actually leaving my tribe again. I drown it as best I can with syrup and coffee (energy for the road) along with a bag full of granola bars, fruit, water, yogurt, and fruit leathers.

There’s nothing special about the morning. Contrary, it’s boring and my kiddos are complaining and my mom and sister are quiet, sharing breakfast and simple stories about home life. The baby is in her swing and everything is just too comfortable. If there are people I can be myself with it’s my sisters. Pick one. Each one is a goddess in her love and my sure knowledge that they will always be mine.

Eventually I do get us loaded and on the road. It’s 1:44 p.m. and I have almost decided to stay until tomorrow morning. The boys miss their daddy (and the pool) so it is I convince myself to hand out a last set of hugs and kisses, take a last set of pictures and snuggle the baby one more time before turning the key over in the ignition.

Once I reach the highway I’m in drive mode, I’m feeling better, happy for the visit, excited to get home to my mini farm and the hubs. I really do like driving and I remember this on the hills and curves and sweeping vistas that wind between Ashland, Oregon and Mt. Shasta.

I like driving until there are one too many hapless drivers on the road with me. At Shasta the perfect set of circumstances come together and stall traffic for over and hour. Thanks in large part to hapless drivers and road construction confines of one lane in a busy stretch of summer travel.

Ironically my mom and sisters would laugh to know I changed out of cut off shorts and a t-shirt into a sun dress while rolling along at 3.7 miles an hour in the shadow of a semi truck. I’m only a little embarrassed to admit it was because my bladder was near the point of rupturing and peeing in a cup seemed preferable to peeing in my pants. That said, the dress helped me at least “feel” like I was attempting to be modest.

By all calculations my easy peasy road trip home should have been no more than seven hours: home before nine… That’s why I wasn’t too surprised (because nothing ever goes as planned) when I threw the minibeast into park at 10:37 and climbed out, into the waiting arms of Mr. Right. Who happened to have a cold drink and a clean house waiting for me! Yay husband! You’re forgiven for not doing car maintenance! 😉


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