Coming home

On a gray Sunday a few weeks ago, our little man had a busy social calendar. I spent a good chunk of the day carting him from one birthday party to another. Thankfully I had my PalmPilot to keep everything sorted out.

On the way home from his final affair of the weekend - at a kids' gym - he chattered about how much fun he and his friends had, and how he wanted to have his party there as well. This will change three dozen times between now and his actual birthday this summer, but we’ve learned to just nod our heads because who are we to deny the dreams of a munchkin?

As we pulled into the driveway following the last party, he thanked me for taking him before he undid his seatbelt, opened the door, and popped out. He’s increasingly expressing his independence in all sorts of ways. I watched him trundle toward the front door, ring the bell and give my wife a big hug as she opened the door. Sitting in the car, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it was clear from his body language that he was excitedly telling her about every aspect of his day.

Watching him come in from the cold to an overwhelmingly warm greeting reminded me why I love returning home so much. It’s the one place in the world where you’ll always be kissed and hugged no matter what kind of day you’ve had. It took a five-year-old in a giant winter coat to reaffirm this very simple reality.