By the time you read this, I will be sitting quietly in the Denver International Airport with nothing but a cell phone and a good book to keep me company.
I won't be responsible for controlling the diapers, crayons, sippy cups, fruits snacks, strollers, sticky hands, unruly cowlicks, embarrassing comments, or inappropriate bodily functions of minors. A diaper bag will not be found in my vicinity.
For about 60 hours, I am giving up the roles of Behavior Police, Nursemaid, Nanny, Taxi Driver, Janitorial Engineer, Head Chef, Homework Monitor, Taskmaster, and Church Time Entertainer.
Instead of managing a toddler's afternoon nap, I might take one myself. And then my plane will land in a forest of evergreens and cloudy skies, the place a piece of my heart still calls home.
I'm heading out for a dose of the familiar, the beloved. A weekend with some fabulous girlfriends of my former home. I can hardly wait for the hugs, the conversations, the laughter, the togetherness.
Ah, the togetherness.
Together, these friends and I will party it up at this delightful event:
And this one:
I'm sure we'll also enjoy a whole lotta chitchat and giggling and catching up on the last nine months.
I'll get to sit in church, shoulder to shoulder with comrades from the not-so-distant past, the ones who have shaped so much of who I am as a grown-up. And squirmy little boys won't dictate when or why I leave the meetings.
I'm kinda thinkin' I won't want to come back.
But of course I will.
And when my plane touches down in an urban sea of blue sky, brown grass, and hibernating trees, another piece of my heart will be home.