Home Again, Home Again . . . . Jiggity-Jig

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“See that sunset, kids? That’s the way home.” #homesick #nebraskasunset #midwest #backiniowa #iowa #nebraska #goinghome #roadtrip

A photo posted by Amy Young Miller (@amyyoungmiller) on Feb 20, 2016 at 4:03am PST

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

To Ohio, to Ohio, to hold a new baby,

Home again, home again, it’s drivin’ me crazy!

Gentle Readers. The precious babe that is so contentedly tucked in Sonia’s lovely swollen belly did not come on his or her due date, as we had all ardently hoped. Neither did the seven or eight pounds of sweetness come on the next day . . . or the next . . . Ardently, passionately, avidly, fervently, fiercely, keenly we longed and prayed to see and hold that preciousness before we had to leave for home.

Alas. Alack. We had to leave for home before the event, and we are home now, still waiting. Still jumping like Mexican jumping beans whenever the ‘phone rings or the cell’ makes the “bedeep!” sound of a new text. Still trying to be patient. Still trying to sleep at night, but not succeeding overmuch.

I remind myself that the sweet darlin’ is only a week late, and that babies will come two weeks before or after the assumed due date, and that this is, of course, perfectly normal.

I remind myself that every baby I had (and I gave birth to six mewling and exquisite and satin-skinned and dewy darlings) save one—and that would be Andrew, the papa of this baby–came within a day or two of his due date. Andrew came three weeks early. So.

I remind myself of my Dad’s comforting and rational words: “Babies come when they are ready to come, not a moment sooner.”

I remind myself that there are scores—if not hundreds–of good folks praying constantly for this precious new one and his parents. Probably for us, too. We are probably enjoying the blessings of those prayers, being under the umbrella of “family.” (And thanks, folks.)

But all those intensely-conjured heart reminders didn’t stop me from bawling like a baby (ironically) for a long time after we drove away. I was driving, and Amalia kept patting my shoulder and offering to drive. “Mom . . . don’t you want me to drive? Are you going to be okay?” Oh, but I was aching to hold that new precious baby in my arms before we left the country. I was pining to see Anya hold her new baby sister or brother. To see the look of joy and relief on the kids’ faces. To wrestle my co-grandma, Jamie, for first holding rights (just joking, Jamie: I would have let you have the first turn at holding. I would have been patient. I would have tried to be patient, at least. I think.)

Eliza is smiling so broadly in this picture, because she is planning to whup up on the game designer on this day.

We put off our departure as long as we could. We perhaps could have waited one more day, but then we would have had to take the whole trip in one day instead of two–quite possible, but so exhausting I didn’t want to try it. I do know my limits (somewhat) and I figured that it would be folly, after a week of not sleeping very soundly (“I just heard something upstairs—is that somebody rushing to the ‘phone?” etc.) to try to make the 14+ hour trip in just one day. Especially since with Amalia and Mack and me traveling together, a 14+ hour trip actually could last 3 weeks.

We stop for everything, ya’all. We could be called the Explorers of Whimsy. 

Except: let the record show, though we want to explore it every–stinkin’–time, we’ve never stopped to see the home of the Duke, John Wayne, in Winterset, Iowa. Next time, kids. I promise. 🙂 I have selfish reasons for wanting to stop there. My own Grandpa Young looked a whole lot like the Duke, and he grew up in Winterset, Iowa, also. So that must mean–right?--that he and the Duke were shirt-tail cousins. Also there’s this: the Duke’s dad was a pharmacist. And: my Dad is a pharmacist! What more proof does anybody need that John Wayne was my cousin?

And . . . by the way . . . if you’d like to read more about that fabulous gentleman, check out this article. It’s excellent, and there are many more stories about brave men who made a difference on the same website, as well.

And besides . . . that’s such a better story than who the actual famous people are, that I’m related to. Trust me. And no, I’m not going to tell you. 🙁 So don’t tease me. (Not even you, Gene . . .)

We leave for our New Zealand trip in *gulp!* three days. I have major butterflies in my stomach about this. I have bills to pay, seeds to plant, calls to make, the refrigerator to clean out (*running screaming out across the back forty*) and major packing to do. We went to New Zealand the first time five years ago, and that time we started packing several months beforehand! I’m not sure if it’s a really nice sign of my maturity and fantastic chillness that I’m not freaking out this time, or if it just shows that I’m losing my mind.

But no matter. Easy come, easy go. harhar

There are Wal-Marts in New Zealand, right, if we forget anything . . .? Well . . . maybe not.

We made so many superb memories while we were at Andrew and Sonia’s house. They live in a very big house, so we could spread out when we needed to and get space and rest. There was nearly always somebody to play a game with, or to sit down and draw with, or to read a few books to. There was lots of snow outside to play in. With my co-grandma and my daughter-in-law Sonia being such superb cooks, I could just lie back in the chaise lounge and laze about every day until the dinner bell rang. I gained, like, 20 pounds! (joking) Beyond the usual cooking and cleaning up, there wasn’t a crush of work to do every day (contrary to someplace else that I know . . . and . . . love .  . *cough*) 🙂

It was lovely.

So, since I haven’t started packing yet and I should really do that, I’ll stop yakking and attach a few photos, which will do my yakkin’ for me. I love ya, Gentle Readers, I do. So enjoy the pictures, and I’ll see ya next time. 🙂

Anya named this little gray squirrel “Blurk.” Or “Blerk.” Certainly NOT Richard, which is what Mack called him, contrary fella (Mack, not Blurk/Blerk).

We watched this fellow every day, getting the nerve up . . .

. . . getting carefully into position . . .

. . . and making his move!

Snacktime, baby!

I love this boy. He’s a little nutty. And I love him.

This was my little castle that I built, and then which sagged and leaned precipitously the next day, but didn’t fall!! (My Frigidaire Flair is that little box-shaped thing to the right, and it is full of snow cookies that Anee and I made. 🙂

I tried to tuck this little sweetie into my pocket and bring her home with me. But no.

🙂

• ← Chagrin Falls, Ohio in February: stunning!
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