Tim got in at about 1am on Sunday. I opened the door in my nightgown, my hair pulled into a messy bun. He walked in and kissed me, first thing.
He had just traveled for two days straight and I was sleepy from a long day with the girls so we mostly just held each other in the dimly lit kitchen, our bare feet on the tile floor. I’m certain my eyes were sparkling (and so were his).
Eventually, we tumble into each other, breathless. Tim showers and begins unpacking, more awake than I am (after all, it’s midday in Ukraine).
“Did you have fun? Are you glad you went?” I ask. He answers seriously, “Yes, but I wish you were there. Everything is better with you there.”
Our 3-year-old hears the commotion and calls, “Daddy?” from her bedroom (she had been sleeping fitfully…awaiting his arrival). “Should we let her get up?,” he asks, eagerly. “I don’t mind,” I say. As soon as we invite her, she comes sprinting out, catapulting into his arms. He pulls out the souvenirs – a Russian hat (that he tries on), Russian candy (that my 3-year-old requests; “Tomorrow,” we say), little dolls, picture books, and a handmade tea set.
We all climb into bed. Happy. 100%. And, for the first time in 2 weeks, I sleep deeply.
In the morning, my 1-year-old wakes up beside me. “Daddy’s home,” I whisper in her ear and then change her diaper. As soon as she sees him, she kicks her legs excitedly and practically leaps into his arms. And she plants a kiss on his nose.
Everything feels right. All of us together again. As it should be.
Have you traveled internationally in the past 1-3 years? If so, where did you go (and did you take your kids)? Would you ever want to live abroad?