We are home.
Back to the familiar things we longed for while we were gone: Our own beds. Lucy’s stuffed-bunny-who-wears-a-dress and who delights her to no end. A grocery store and Costco around the corner. Back-to-school night notices and orientation schedules the kids were anxious about (but that make us all a little nauseous). My husband and children mostly to myself.
Life is orderly here. Almost sterile in some ways in comparison to the lake and the cacophony of voices and needs and cooking and cleaning that goes on there. At the lake we bounce like ping-pong balls from one thing to the next: a tennis tournament in one place, a deep discussion about a particular aspect of parenting at another. Marshmallows being scraped off the floor at the pavilion and children begging for one more boat ride at the beach.
The simple-ness of it all back at home seems (at least these first few days) so very therapeutic and peaceful. Yet our hearts are still reaching back to the warmth of the chaos and color and texture of the lake and all the love that seeps in and out of that place.
Which leads to dishes to be done:
And a dishwasher to be constantly emptied:
And then, of course, kids are hungry again:
There is non-stop cousin bonding:
And some serious dance-moves for our “Just Dance” dance-off:
There are always children to be snuggled:
Especially by those who aren’t even their parents. My kids leave that place so full of confidence from all the attention they’ve received from their amazing aunts and uncles.
There are old engines to be “male-bonded” over:
And talents to be shown-off:
There’s always a tennis match to be played,
…and babies to be drooled over.
Life-jackets are put on and pulled off hundreds of times each day.
And grandchildren are made to feel like they are the best things since sliced bread.
Of course by then more food must be consumed.
…while politics or service projects are discussed in depth.
How we love that place.
Although I love coming home after each summer jam-packed full of memories there, to me, after living at Bear Lake each summer growing up it is “home” as well.
And I’m so glad it is becoming just that for my children too.
As much as I can’t get over how great it feels to stretch out in my own bed, my fingers interlaced with Dave’s, and to have our own fridge and only our own messes to take care of, I’m so grateful for the rich threads of beauty the memories of Bear Lake weave into the tapestry of what makes us “us.”
Both the family I grew up in and continue to be so inspired by as well as the one I’m growing.