You can feel it coming - that slow build of lava, bubbling up through exhaustion and the minutia of patience you cling to like a life-line - when words are sharp and tone is hurtful - when they stomp to bed with tears in their eyes because your kindness is at it's limit and your assiduity is self-focused because all you want is a steaming cup of tea and a steaming bathtub steeped in lavender and you swear if you hear, "but I don't wanna go to bed," one more time you'll shave your head and lock yourself in the bedroom closet...
Winter wears you like a ragged coat, dragging you down, robbing colour and grace. I needed this like an addict needs heroine so, when the proposal was spoken, all I could do was write a great big YES in the condensation of my sigh.
A beautiful room, hip and modern, king bed, toilet paper folded to a point, clever signage and berber carpeting.
Steak so rare we bordered on vampiric. Walks through bitter winds to view one of the seven wonders. Laughing. Catching hold of those moments that strengthen and bind. Remembering the little things. Like a night without a child coming into our bed. Head massages and hair cuts. Ferris Wheels and floating in an early morning pool. Blisters and complimentary coffee. Best friends. Finding the end of the rainbow.
And coming home. Two nights refreshed. And happy to see my children. And saying, "I missed you." And really meaning it.