Always There

For days, she chatted about it to anyone who would listen.

"We're having a sleepover tomorrow!" (actually, not until Saturday)

"We're going to the nature center - the one by Grandma's house."

"Maybe we will watch the Bare Necessities?" (the song in The Jungle Book she danced to in her recital)

In the car, I heard her murmering about it to Dylan, who is likely oblivious to the meaning of "sleepover" but who listened and smiled, enchanted by everything she says.

Outwardly, I smiled, laughing with her and talking about how much fun they would have. 

Inwardly, I sighed, missing them before they even left.

We carefully chose which pajamas and outfits to pack.  And yes, I said outfits, plural, for her one night stay at Grandma and Grandpa's.  I guess overpacking runs in the family.

Saturday morning came, and I kissed and hugged and kissed them goodbye, burying my nose into each little head of hair, inhaling them.

They were only gone a little more than twenty-four hours, but I missed Abbey's constant updates about Mit the Mouse and Dylan's garbled, giggled babbling.

My heart felt a little out of place, but...

...I didn't mind listening to an Eminem song without headphones.

...I cherished the long dinner out with Ryan, laughing about our slightly spastic waiter without worrying that one of us would have to leave the table with a restless child, food growing cold on the table.

...I luxuriated in sleeping all night and reading 8:10 a.m. on the bedside clock in the morning.

And when I saw them Sunday, comfortable and happy with my parents, I remembered.

I am not the only one who loves them.

Grandpa's got this one