home again, home again
I’m waiting for my flight to board, with my $5.00 coffee and $8.oo internet access and I am actually ready to go home. I have slept far too little, danced far too much, laughed until I cried, played tag in heels, wished desperately for a cup of tea, shot off fireworks with a bunch of eight year olds while the real adults watched from the porch, and loved almost every minute of it. My family does have more than its fair share of dysfunctionality, and naturally we didn’t all get along that well. We hurt feelings and flared tempers and hugged a bit too much for my taste. We laughed long after the jokes stopped making sense and got offended at nothing.
We danced with perfect strangers and liked each other far better a few glasses of wine into the night. We took unflattering photographs and told embarrassing stories. We told each other how it wouldn’t take us so long to see each other again.
Because being a family isn’t nearly as pretty as the formal photographs that came after the wedding. It’s far more real, far more messy and grumpy and silly and fun. We are so far from the ideal family. Every one of us is a mess. We all slightly dread the reunions, and we’re always happy to get home.
But while we joined hands and prayed along with the pastor, wishing the new Mr. and Mrs. the very happiest of wedded lives, we all knew that despite the teasing, the arguments, the imperfections and the less than eloquent toasts, we wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Well, I might have for a cup of tea.
Don’t tell anyone.