We were standing at the edge of the water, the sun splashing itself against the curling waves so that the water itself sparkled. My thirteen year old son, whose freckles reappeared after a few days on the beach and whose blue eyes match the turquoise sea, leaned into me. “I don’t want to leave.”
“Me neither,” I answered with my arm around him.
“It was an awesome week.”
And we took a few last moments watching the sea together.
Two hours later, having packed up and showered, our nine year old and I sat on the Harbour island dock with our bags while my husband went back to get the older boys and lock up the golf cart. Our son wore a Kansas City Chiefs baseball hat and a fluorescent green t-shirt from last summer’s swim team. His red fox neck pillow was wrapped around his neck.
“You guys are so much fun to travel with,” I told him and couldn’t help but kiss him on the nose.
He smiled, “You and Dad are fun to travel with too.”
And when we were all together, having made our connecting flight, but nostalgic for the day we arrived eight days ago, our fourteen year old reminded us that home is not so bad, because…
“I can’t wait to see the puppy.”
The puppy who is no longer a puppy. “Poor puppy,” the boys added and were suddenly ready for vacation’s end.