Waaaaahhhhhh!

It's threatened a couple of times. It's hovered just below the surface now and again. It's been the focus of much speculation and a hot topic in many a conversation. And today it hit.

Homesickness.

Bless my sweet daughter's soul. Her first response is "Mom, you are LIVING in England! How many people get to do that?" That usually works. If that doesn't work she moves on to the "and you WORK in Scotland.... " approach. When she has to get rough, she brings up how close to Paris I am. And she's handling everything with great aplomb back home - paying the mortgage, buying a new water heater, duking it out with the cable company. I can't even feel like I'm "needed".

Everyone is worried about me with the holidays coming up. I think, actually, the less discussion we put into it, the better off, ultimately, I'll be. Most of my family is not around at the holidays, ever, so if the rest of them aren't, I should be able to get by. We always figure out how to have a good time long distance. I bought a foot tall, teal foil tree, decorated it in five minutes and am declaring decorating done.

But tonight I wanted to feel my cats. Smell my grandson's head. Hear my daughter's car come into the driveway. I wanted to be exhausted thinking of all the groceries I would need to buy for the two days of cooking, twenty minutes of eating and three hours of clean up Thanksgiving always brings.

So I did what every woman needs to do to cleanse her soul. I cried. I let it all fall out. Big buckets of tears. I soaked my shirt and many tissues (I recommend paper towels for this job). I closed the drapes so I couldn't see London and allowed myself a good half hour of not appreciating of where I am and the opportunity I have.

I am happy. But I miss my family peeps.