I'm sitting in the kitchen now, while 3 of the 5 men in my life are winding down before bed... Dad is leaving tomorrow, and it'll have been three and a half weeks that he's been with us. He came down at the end of July, spent a week, we drove up for our tour of eastern Canada, and then he drove us back on Sunday...
There are those few types of moments that really get me. One is walking in to my apartment after vacation (no matter what apartment, or which vacation), and feeling like I've never left. I hate that. The other, much worse kind, is feeling like I'm ripping N. away from my parents and dragging him across the continent. I hate that split second on the last day when I realize my mother is going to have to buckle him in his carseat and watch us drive away. I hate that moment. And I hate that when my dad visits, he tries to sneak out under the cover of night, so that N. won't see him get upset when he leaves. He watches N. sleep for a few minutes and then takes off. And it kills me every time.
I know there's little chance that Hubby and I will find jobs in my hometown (and zero chance of it happening in my mother-in-law's village), but when we're closer it'll be easier.
I crocheted a bit at lunch today, and will be doing more tomorrow I hope... it makes me feel better, more centered, more calm. I don't feel alone when I have my needles and my hooks in my hands, they distract me somehow... sigh.