Musings from a distant home

Whenever I go to Texas in the early part of the year, it's always a sort of shock, body and soul.

It snowed in Boston on Friday. In Texas, we had a picnic. We went for the shady spots. We found a nice indoor pool to cool off.

I have a 15 square foot porch at home. Outside my small apartment. Here, J plays outside all day, every day (often pantsless). On nearly an acre of land. At night he runs the length of the large house, chasing the dog. It's mostly just us at home. In Texas he is always surrounded by cousins, neighbors, aunts, grandparents. A dog. (Sometimes, I think it's even too much for him, it's so unfamiliar.)

We've gone shopping, we've eaten out, we've gone swimming, we've played kickball, we've barbecued, dined outside, my heavens we've dined inside, we've met new cousins, seen long lost nephews, we've pedicured, we've picked flowers, we've run, we've ridden in cars, had family dinners a plenty, played and played some more.

It's been a good trip.

I always feel a little bit guilty bringing him back home to our little house.

Today in the car with Grandma, in the silence, J said:

"It's too quiet, mommy."

What a readjustment he's in for...