Right now I am balancing my laptop with coffee in hand, drinking it while it’s hot.
Sawyer is upstairs watching Alvin and the Chipmunks with eyes drooping from fresh air and the weight of his lashes.
I can hear Parker, McKenna and Ashlyn’s giggles drifting through the window. They are playing drive-thru window in their old playhouse that is brand new only because it’s standing in a different space. I’m dying to videotape them but it will break the spell.
The floors creak when we walk and I’m silently competing with my husband over who can maintain a fire in our wood-burning stove and I’ve decided wellies go with everything.
I’m not convinced that well water won’t turn my hair orange or that a rock kicked up from the road won’t poke my eye out when I’m getting the mail. But I do know we are home.
Every time I pull into our drive I’m pretty sure my heart expands with the acres and when I wake up in the morning I’m still not ready to blink.
When Sawyer comes downstairs it might be the time in our day when he asks if we are staying here for a “wong, wong time” and I will swap my laptop for an afternoon with a 100% chance of mud
and tell him yes we are.
We are home.
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