Hung the “gone fishing” sign on the door this weekend and escaped to a city I would move to in a New York minute if I could convince each and every one of my friends to come along. I just can’t imagine living without my peeps, no matter how strongly Portland courts me.
An annual trip we’ve taken four years, now – except that I think it might be five – we stayed in our favorite digs, visited our favorite spots, and ventured into some new places as well.
In years past I’ve clicked photos and blogged and written of our adventures. But this weekend was quieter, more introverted. The pictures you see here are almost all we took, and I didn’t feel any draw to report our activities (perhaps because much of what we did involved pulled curtains and Do Not Disturb signs, if you know what I mean).
Bryan’s been working long hours these last months – and even as I write he is away at a function until late tonight – so the time together was timely. The challenge for me, of course, is always the re-entry. It’s never graceful. I’m never glad to be back. I’m always more than a little bitter it had to end.
Though I did say to Bryan at one point on Sunday, when I was starting to think about the kids just a little bit, that I couldn’t imagine not having kids. The time I would have! The money to burn! The intact cells of my brain! What would I do with myself, day in and day out? What mystery would there be to uncover? What challenge to overcome? For what stolen moment would I devise an elaborate plan to capture?
So this is what I tried to remember today as Thomas crapped in the bathtub yet again, and as Ruthie woke from her nap in the foulest of moods. I tried to remember that these children are a blessing to me, not a thorn in my side as I sometimes see them. They are a gift given to me. And though weekend escapes without them for marital bliss are important, my heart should always be glad to be where it is.