As I started to drift into the I'm-in-solitary-confinement blues yesterday, I realized I needed to get a grip. So I latched onto the memory of my plane trip home from Berlin last summer. I was so anxious to see my children that it almost hurt. Every moment I was away from them started to feel unbearable and I thought that there was nothing in life that would matter if I could just be with them again.
I know, crazy. I spent the previous four and a half years desperate for a chance to get away from the little darlin' ones. Sometimes your wish has to be granted before you realize you actually want something more.
Since then, I've been on a mental voyage to a place that has changed my life. I have finally arrived: I'm happy to be a stay-at-home Mom. Thrilled, in fact. Who would have thought this of me?
My husband asked me last night if I'd like to get back to school to start my graduate degree in the next year or two, if I could find a program that let me take things at a slow pace. No way. I could change my mind, of course, but I think I'd rather wait five or ten years. My heart is here. I'm satisfied to spend time staring into my kids' eyes (true love, every time), baking cookies and spending hours paper-crafting valentines that are really not that much better than the store-bought ones.
So as I laid in bed feeling imprisoned and restless, I remembered how it felt to be somewhere other than home. It felt great and I'd go again in a heartbeat, but it also hurt to be away from this crazy place called home. This is where I'll come back to. This is where my heart will always be. And even if I'm stuck here for two more months without so much as a peek at the encroaching spring, I would rather be imprisoned here than anywhere else in the world.
Safe in the arms of those I love. Safe in the laughter of my children. Blessed with happiness from above. This is where I belong.