Roger got home early from work one afternoon. He headed upstairs to change clothes and I followed him.
(Don’t worry, this post isn’t going there.)
We reclined on the bed and talked about our days, checked in with each other in a way that we don’t often get a chance to do.
(Still not going there.)
Before long, it was time for the kids to get home from school. We waited with anticipation to hear the commotion in the front yard, right below our bedroom window, that would signal their arrival.
We heard the first sounds as the children walked up the street, and both of us leapt to the window. Tessa and Reed were strolling toward the house, chatting with each other, their body language showing only happiness and camaraderie.
They were unaware that we were watching them until Roger rapped loudly on the window. I joined in and both kids looked up, puzzled. Quickly they realized that we were their personal welcoming committee. Their faces lit up, all of us joyous at our reunion.
I love the image of our home as a magnet, gentle with our leavings each morning and always, always drawing us back together.
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