A Return to the Motherland

Lest you had forgotten about me, I’m still alive. And yes, our igloos do have Internet access up here in the Great White North. DSL, even. I’ve just been caught up in a whirlwind of family and friends since we arrived and this is the first moment I’ve had to sit down and just breathe.

I know you’re all waiting for misshapen tales of my flight to Canada but (brace yourselves): it went smoothly. So smooth that I’m still in shock over its texture. The only real bump was on the descent when both kids screamed that their ears were going to explode. Oh, and when my parents were a half hour late picking us up. I still feel kinda bad about all those nasty [and anonymous] messages that were left on their answering machine.

Coming back home is always a trip (pun intended). My parents have lived in the same house for 40 years and I am flooded with an immeasurable amount of gratitude for all my wonderful memories every time I drive into our neighborhood. This visit in particular has taken me down memory lane as I’ve hooked up with two of my closest friends to hash out all the good gossip. How we now have good childhood friends who range from doctors to drug addicts. And how grateful I am for the path I have chosen to land me where I am today.

This morning, we went to my high school for a hair appointment with my niece (who is in their cosmetology program). If acknowledging that I graduated from that hellhole..errr..high school 16 years ago isn’t bad enough, even more sobering is walking in with two kids. Try it sometime if you really want to feel olllllllld.

Haddie did marvelously during her first non-mommy-hack-job haircut and Bode got some serious action from every ogling 17-year-old girl in the room. And he left his mark on every single one of them. The puke kind. He’s such the ladies man in the making.

Jamie arrives late Friday night and the rest of the crew (my brother Jade’s family) will be here Saturday. Well, weather permitting. Denver’s big blizzard disaster (see pics at our house) has even made the news up here and has earned respect among the hardcore who-cares-if-my-nose-hairs-are-frozen Canuckian crowd.

It took my dear husband three hours to drive home and it’s likely the poor thing will be snowed in tomorrow. Wait: retract feigned sympathy. He will probably curl up to the fireplace, watch the History Channel and revel about allllll the sleep he’s receiving.

All of which are definitely worth a few extra night shifts when he eventually arrives in Canada, wouldn’t you agree?….

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