Back Home and Totally but Happily Neurotic

It is good to be back home.

Three weeks took us to Houston, Texas, and then to the Hopi Reservation, Flagstaff, and Pheonix, Arizona.

Merry enjoyed the diverse experiences of Texas (dressing up, being an adult at lunches out, the Nutcracker, plays) and Arizona (snow tubing, hiking Cathedral Rock in Sedona, eating enough dirty snow to send her stomach round the bend). Martin and I enjoyed fantastic Tex-Mex and lots of shopping in Texas (not to mention lots of relaxed, good times with his family) and then amazing Asian food and hiking (Martin skied but I am not allowed) in Arizona (and of course my generous and loving family). Elspeth pushed both her cousins but only the cousin in Arizona pushed her back. She weathered the endless airport travel with a monkey on her back that straps to a harness that ends in a leash in my hand.

Best of all, there was lots of family. Classes were over, grades were in, and we were free to enjoy our loved ones.

And it is SO good to be home. After we finally piled out of a friend's car with our endless Christmas luggage, we turned on the heat (it was freezing), the girls went to bed, and I began putting away Christmas decorations. The tree that seemed so lovely before we left for holidays suddenly seemed redundant and tired; I stripped it down and began packing away compulsively. And then in the days that have followed I've attacked closets, hidden shameful places, old medicine cabinets. . .The night before Martin's classes started I threw a fit and then he and I moved furniture and rearranged until almost midnight. Crazy.

I think part of this wild rush is that suddenly Beatrix kicks just around the corner. She's imminent now, and my unpainted kitchen and the excess and the disorganization has sent me into a tizzy. (Being in my sister's super-organized, stream-lined, turns-on-a-dime home only increased this frenzy). Before Christmas I assured myself that there was still the class I was teaching, still vacation, still so much before the third daughter was even near. And now suddenly I'm huge and Beatrix is busy kicking and I am full of frenzied energy to fix broken hooks, buy huge organizing Ziplocks, and clear the shelves for yet another set of clothes. I must bag my dried herbs! I must move Elspeth into a bed! I must teach Merry to read!

The basement looms large, as does the kitchen which they tell me I am not allowed to paint and the furniture I am not allowed to move by myself. The back porch is filling up with huge bags of inexplicable stuff bound for the thrift store or the trash.

Meanwhile I feel flushed with good intentions: early, organized breakfasts, schedules, hot meals, folded laundry, books read, early tea/dinner for the girls, quality time with Martin, disciplined, clean children (i.e., NOT the wild dash through Walmart, shouting in guttural tones at Merry to tackle Elspeth, who was on a beeline to depart the Great Satan, as Martin calls that time-warp of a place--I'd gone there to buy giant Ziplocks and printer cartridges and pegs for our chaotic workshop pegboard, among other miscellany), 0 tolerance for unwanted clutter and old bill stubs.

And I feel pretty happy despite the fact that I may never live up to these grandiose expectations. Yes, I am happy to be among my plants in grey-winter Pennsylvania, close to my friends whom I will see at some point when the dust clears, surrounded by endless tea, good books, my own computer and the drama of my Netflix cue, and the company of my children.

A freshly painted kitchen would just put the icing on my cake. Anyone (who's allowed!) up for spackling?