In fact, since we decided to move next month (especially since we're moving next month), I've been a little obsessed with reconnecting with home. I've been back to visit now two weekends in a row, and I plan to be home for the next four barring another horrible car breakdown. I feel like the pure joy I get from spending time with my family might actually be a little weird. I cannot get enough of playing with my two adorable nieces -- who are my kindred spirits. (Seen below on our most recent trip to the Fresno Zoo, which, despite being a great place to take kids, is also one of the most depressing places on earth. All of the animals have this pained look like they are waiting for the sweet release of death. The kids don't notice though.)
But I also can't seem to get enough of my parents, who aside from having given me life lead otherwise pretty ordinary lives. Our weekends go something like this: I arrive Friday night, wake up Saturday morning and drink coffee/read a book with my mom on the back patio, have breakfast with mom and dad, schedule several hours of play time with the girls, eat dinner with mom and dad (and maybe grandma if I'm lucky), watch a movie together and then go to sleep around 9 p.m. Rather, rinse, repeat. It is kind of my bliss. Could I start a life here? No. Could I become recluse who only spends time with my family, reads and has HBO? Yes.
I will say that there has been something surreal about these past couple of visits now that I'm packing up my stuff for real (for reals, for reals). When I went away to college, I knew I would be back for everything. When I moved to LA, I was able to use my parent's house for everything from out-of-season clothes to TV boxes. But NOW, I am actually having to sift through everything from years past to decide if there is anything I actually want to have in my home. It is very weird, and a little frustrating -- I mean, who threw out all my prom dresses?
This is what our parents used to tell us would happen, but we chose not to believe them.
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