Posted by: Kate | March 20, 2008


It took a long time to get from Orlando to Boston.  Not as long as it would have taken to drive, either chronologically or emotionally – by the end of our vacation, the kids were finding ways to get into little spats before we’d backed all the way out of the parking space, I can’t imagine a 24-hour drive – but still, a three-hour delay is a long delay.

And now it’s 12:30 in the morning, Willem and the kids are on their way home, and I’m waiting for my mother to come back in from the parking lot – one last culling through of stuff so as to bring a tiny bit less with us – and then I’ll get less than 4 hours of sleep before we leave.  I know this because the shuttle leaves the hotel at 4:30.  In the morning.  This morning.

My heart knows that I’m going to have a fantastic, amazing trip, but right now my head is sending out a constant stream of things, large and small, to worry about, until I’ve started to wonder why it was that I left the Ativan home.  I was never prone to homesickness as a child, and this includes months with various relatives in the summer, or as a 20something – but then, I never traveled without my kids and husband, since I didn’t have either one and only just last year took my first without-them vacation.  (Well, there was a school trip to New Orleans for a conference in 2002, but I was so busy that whole time that I can’t remember having time for silly things like emotional attachments.)

I’m not homesick, exactly, because it’s snowing in New Hampshire and I hate cold weather.  I’m familysick.  I want to be geographically near my babies, and my husband, because they have become my security blanket.  I’m not even sure how they did it, exactly; I was always fiercely independent, insistent on being able to do my own thing, emotionally and financially and socially, and I can’t remember exactly when my identity started to become so enmeshed with these other people’s that I don’t feel quite right when we’re apart.  I get the kids thing, the gestation-and-birth process helped, as did the keeping-them-alive-through-toddlerhood part, but with Willem the process was less obvious and more unexpected.

So I’m a touch maudlin, tonight, but trying to ignore it – or, when that failed, write it out – because I know that this missing them is a good thing.  It proves a strong bond and lets me appreciate them a little extra.  And I’ll be home in five days.


  1. Just five short days.

    But aw, it is sweet that you miss them already, isn’t it?

    Now go to bed.

  2. Oh Kate, I totally feel your pain. Keep busy and know that soon enough you will see them. Enjoy the beach and the sun and the adult company, trust me when you get home that whole novelty of them being fantastic wears off right after about the 4th temper tantrum 🙂

  3. Isn’t it funny. When you’re with them you can’t wait to get away and when you’re away you can’t wait to get home. Kids.

  4. Hi Kate. This post struck such a chord with me. It’s just how I feel when I have to leave my family, for more than a day or two. No matter how independent I was before, I feel safest, most relaxed, when I’m with my them.
    Strange but kind of nice… 🙂

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