Back in the Nest

It ended up being an all-day saga, but at the end of it, our dragonlet is (temporarily) back in the nest.

As a Christmas present last year, S's boyfriend presented a ticket for a flight to suburban St. Paul and the even more extraordinary gift of a three-month stay with him and his dad. We sent S. off with a new suitcase and casual hugs goodbye, thinking we'd be reunited in May.

After only a month, S. wanted to stay. I didn't think it was at all practical, but S. managed to find a job, make a contribution to the household, and honestly, it seemed to be working out better for everyone. S. is on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum, and it was surprising how much energy went into keeping the peace in our household. With his younger sibling out of the nest, our firstborn's maturity blossomed. Our family of four became a family of three.

And S. was thriving in the North. Big-city living seemed to agree with the dragonlet. 

But, well, we missed the peanut. A lot. And amazingly, when the holidays approached, we found a surprisingly affordable round-trip airline ticket to allow S. to come home for Thanksgiving. We'd get a whole week together.

We were counting down the days. The flight was scheduled to arrive at an airport in the state's capital, about 90 minutes away, at 2:30. We left home at a little before noon. But en route came a series of texts. Changing planes at O'Hare, the dragonlet had accidentally gone through a one-way door, got turned around, and missed the connecting flight.

My child was stranded in Chicago. And I was helpless. But within a half-hour came another text. My young adult had gotten onto another flight, one that would arrive at 6 p.m. With several hours to dispose off, the hubs and I went to a movie, then proceeded to the airport. After a comedy of errors, we finally figured out how to park in the deck and proceeded to the terminal. S. had landed and would meet us at baggage claim.

The next half hour dragged - until finally here was this person coming down the escalator. Our baby, whom we hadn't seen in nine months. Confident, well-traveled, and a full-blown adult. There was some question about the suitcase, because of the missed flight, but before long we were reunited with the luggage and on our way home. 

S. is now asleep in the study. But we sent away a vulnerable child and have had returned to us a fully functioning grownup with a new haircut and not one but two jobs, plans for the future, and real joy in living. 

What Makes a Home

The dust has settled, at long last. On Tuesday, we left our house of the last six years and moved across town to our new home, a single-story townhouse that will cut our commute to work in half, down to twenty minutes. Already, we're feeling the difference.

The move itself took place on the one day of the week on which it was raining, of course, but the movers were on time, cheerful, careful, and efficient. We were in the new place by 4:30 on Tuesday afternoon. By 8:15 Friday morning, the last box was unpacked and its contents dispersed. We devoted the weekend to hanging framed items on the walls. 

The dogs and the cats have settled in with no trouble, and we are eagerly looking forward to the arrival on Saturday of our second-born, who now lives in Minnesota. S. will be with us for a week, and it can't come soon enough.

I expected some longing, some nostalgia, a sense of missing the place we had called home for six years. It hasn't happened. From the first, the new place has felt like home. There's been no sense of transition, no feeling that we are perching temporarily in someone else's house. This is home. 

Of course, it helps that the furnishings are familiar, that we are sitting on the familiar sofa, cooking with the familiar pots and pans, drawing books from familiar shelves. But the real difference, of course, is the people. Those whom I love are close at hand, and that's what makes the place home. 

It's also interesting to have come full circle, in a sense. When the children were small (S. was only six months old), we moved into a house just a few miles away. We had a local movie theater and a local Harris Teeter. Twenty years later, we are once again going to see films at the same local theater and shopping at the same Harris Teeter. Only now the babies are grown. Maybe that's part of why the place feels so much like home - it's a coming back to a familiar area. 

In any event, we are very glad to be home at last.