These days, I seldom leave home.
These days, the world as I experienced it pre-COVID now seems absurdly large and over-full:
too much bustle,
too much driving,
too much distraction,
too much to do, all the time.
The last couple of months especially have been, in many ways, just the right level of full:
full of Sunday morning slime-making dates with my littlest one, who then
transforms the slime into a Blob with a taste for toy towns (and buses);
full of moments spent snuggling while taking turns reading aloud;
full of cucamelon-growing and friendship-bracelet-making and wearing jewelry from MADE that almost no one sees, my wearing it almost exclusively at home;
full of mid-night psuedo-dates with my husband, aka the closest thing to real dates we’ve had in a couple years;
full of wonder that I didn’t see earlier but can see now how absolutely full of the best things in life is,
quite simply,
home.
I feel this in my bones. It makes you think, doesn’t it – what is this rat race for? To live ‘home’? But isn’t it taking us away from ‘home’?
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