I’ve just run out of Q-tips.
I have 5 ibuprofen tablets left.
I finally threw out my trusty black pants from Uniqlo that I wore every day it was under 75 degrees Fahrenheit. And that was more days than I’d hoped. They had developed a hole in a rather obscene location, and my repairs weren’t holding.
I’m about to toss the semi-cute back flats I bought for $6 in London to avoid wearing hiking shoes to the theater. I’m still not fooling anyone. And they haven’t gotten cuter with age.
John just cut the toes out of my hiking shoes to make them into sandals so that I could bear to wear them for our last three weeks of hot weather.
I may not have made much of an effort to speak Spanish this week in Medellin. (Though I did manage to surprise a Swiss family by speaking French to them. Unfortunately I flubbed my subsequent sentences, so their expectations were ultimately met.)
I believe I have travel fatigue. I know I am ready to go home.
I’m so glad we decided to take it slow in our last three months in South America. Our three weeks in Ayacucho gave us culture shock in the best way, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Our month in Buenos Aires let us jump in and pretend like we really lived there. No, we really did live there. We made friends, we mastered the bus system, Magnolia went to circus school, I played with Batala Baires, and we even found a local pub (something we don’t even have at home). And now in our last month Colombia has given us surprises upon surprises, and all of them good.
But I’m tired. And not just of my clothes. (Although I am really tired of my clothes.)
I want to wear my bathing suit all day and play with my nieces and nephews. I want to have grown up conversation over grown up drinks with my girlfriends. I want to wear my pajamas all day. I want to bake bread. And cookies.
I have treasured almost every minute of togetherness with my kids, because I know we’ll never have this much time together again. But I am looking forward to having some conversations, maybe even a few hours, that do not involve them, and I’m sure they are, too.
At the beginning of this trip, I wasn’t sure if we would want to come home at the end of it. But now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than go home. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it again, because I absolutely would, or that I won’t do it again, because I absolutely could, but for now I’m looking forward to the comforts of home.