We got up obscenely early this morning, drove to the airport, and flew cross-country so we can spend Christmas with my family. It's what we do every two years. As we did two years ago, we're staying with my grandma.
I spent a lot of time with grandma when I was a kid. I can remember the glee that a very young me felt every time I "helped" her mix her powdered milk and "accidentally" dropped the not-quite-long-enough long-handled spoon into that orange-rimmed dispenser with the pop-up top. And I can remember her racing into my room whenever a firetruck barreled by --sirens blaring-- on the street outside my window. I can remember playing with the stash of make-up testers she left in her bathroom when I was seven or eight and I remember her realizing --after the welts formed-- that I was probably allergic to penicillin when I was eight or nine.
She feels like home to me. And for the ability to see her again and to talk with her in person and to see my kids here in this house where I spent so much time, I'm thankful. So thankful.
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