Post-Holiday Vertigo

I spent New Year's Eve in bed, trying to sleep, picturing the things I had forgotten to pack scattered around the house: my cell phone charger, the camera battery in the office, Jude's blankets and pacifier in the crib, the toiletry bag. In my mind I pictured these things glowing in the darkness, an attempt to remember. At two-thirty in the morning, we slid out of bed and dragged our suitcases downstairs. We moved like stealthy mice through the sleeping house. While others across the country were still celebrating the advent of a new year, Mike slipped our sleeping child from the crib down to the car, I hugged my tired papa goodbye, and my momma drove us to the airport two hours away.


We had a lovely Christmas with my family. And truthfully, I hated saying goodbye. I always do. Especially when I should have been pretending to know the words to Aud Lang Syne, toasting Martinellis in plastic cups and giving Mike a big smackaroo on the lips. Luckily, the universe smiled upon us and we were able to catch an earlier flight home rather than waiting in Cincinnati for 5 hours. Jude behaved remarkably well and didn't utter a peep. Blessed child.

Now, days later, I'm still reeling in the vertigo of solitude in a quiet house, trying to convince myself to be productive. Although the holiday was chaotic, it was a lovely kind of chaos.