Northern Adventures

Sorry for my spotty posting. I have returned home for a time and the kids are all over me. They have monopolized my time to the point of getting special permission from their school to allow me on a  field trip.

Being home is a really wonderful time for me. It means being surrounded by family and friends! It means knowing my way around the entire city and being able to to walk across the entire city in an hour or less. I fit back into most of it, like when I walked into church with my family and people stopped to excitedly wave and said hello. I lose my place a bit at home where I sleep in the kids rooms. We have breakfast together and I get them up for school and we go together. I drop them off and pick them up. We hang out and have lots of fun together. We go in the hot tub, play outside… we laugh together. How capital “R” romantic! It’s been awhile since I’ve been back. The last time I visited was two months ago.

It’s a little different this time though. For the very first time I miss my husband while I’m away. We’ve been together close to four years and married for just about one year. Usually when I’m home I think very little of him other than at night when I think “This bed is too cold.” This time it doesn’t matter what the kids and I do I feel a little bit lonely. This loneliness is amplified by my mom’s rewatching of Grey’s Anatomy (which I rage quit at season 9) and my baby sister watching InuYasha. I watched these when I was young. I cared about them deeply and now as an adult I feel sad watching them again.

This is where I want to guide you. My journey of reliving nostalgia as less romantic.

Coming home after being away for a year is very different to me. Holiday visits naturally have a familiar feeling because lots of people are visiting – I didn’t stand out. Staying with my mom after living away for a year things are different.

The rose coloured glass broke.

It reminds me of the comics/graphic novels/manga I read (both past and present tense). I like stories with happy predictable endings. Stories with resurrections where death is reserved for the bad guys who can always be turned around. I live for escapist stories that restore the rose tint. This week as I’m home alone I’m reminded of how much I’ve changed and how different my life and outlook has become. I’m saddened by it. I used to be simpler and happier. I had a kindergarten class I taught and what felt like endless time to just do silly things.

I guess I’m just feeling sad and without being able to call Boy Wonder I had to get it out here. Sorry for how fractured this is. I’m writing as my sister sings and shakes a container of marbles and my brother is crying about having 20 instead of 21 marbles.

-Best wishes, Ange.






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