I arrived home at about 7pm last night after a couple of hours in the car with my co-worker. Quite why he needed to stop at Oxford to buy a bag of shopping was anybody’s guess (I’m suspecting guilt at leaving his other half to cope with little or no warning), but I wasn’t really in a position to say a wordso I didn’t.
I did sit in his car and call a friend who was travelling cross country on the train, and experiencing exactly what I used to when commuting into and out of London. Once you get used to it, it’s finebut those first few journeys are incredibly lonely.
I think arriving at the foot of our drive opened his eyes to why I was annoyed about missing Halloweenit was obvious our girls had been waiting for my arrival. While fishing around in the back of the car toextricatemy suitcase, backpack, and coat, our front door creeked open and lit up the nightalso exposing three small silhouettes.
I grinned towards them from the streetlight at the end of the drive, and one of the silhouettes shouted “DADDY!”, and sprinted into the house.
I waved my co-worker goodbye, and lumbered towards the house with my bags, to more voices shouting “IT’S DAD! IT’S DAD!”. As soon as I stepped from the rain sodden concrete of the drive into the house, I was rugby tackled by little people. W poked her head around the corner of the kitchen doorway and shouted hello too.
These are the moments you cannot describe to people easily. The moments when you get home from being away, and little ones grab your legs and tip their head down as they hug younot wanting to let go.
I read the bedtime stories last night, and made breakfast and packed lunches this morning.
It was good to be home.