Fact. If you asked my husband what I do every.single.time I go away on vacation, I'm not sure if he'd tell you. He likely would be kind enough to not reveal that I cry every.single.time we leave our home. When we were first together, he was all concerned that maybe I was sick (not the case) or I didn't want to go on vacation (not true) or that something major might be wrong (well, he may have a point there). Now, he just comes to expect it, as it happens every time, without fail. It's almost time to go, I burst into sobs, say I hate leaving our homestead, that nothing is done, I'm so disorganized, etc. He just hugs me, tells me that I'm doing a good job and that we will have fun.
You know, I do have fun when I go away.
But...
I have the most fun coming home.
I came home tonight, went around to all the animals, gathered the eggs, met some baby chicks I hadn't seen before, visited the garden, smelled the fresh air. There were cats under my feet, a dog running laps, roosters crowing, goats bleating, hens squawking, children squealing, trains blowing their whistles. There were new blooms in the garden (irises!), radishes ready, mini zucchinis growing and tomatoes flowering. So many good new things. So many old familiar things.
This vacation, I not only cried when I left, but I also cried when I came home. Because there's nothing that makes me more happy than being home.
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