All day at work today, I just felt like I wanted to be at home, to go home. Zoom down the freeway, stop at the daycare to pick up B and get home. Where it's safe, and we have food and water and a bathtub for warm baths, and heat to keep us warm, and soft beds with lots of blankets and pillows. I don't work on Fridays, so I knew if I could just get home with my child, P would be home soon too, and maybe I could talk him into taking tomorrow off, and we could all just stay home for three days and hole up together.
I guess this was my reaction to the start of the war.
As I was driving, though, I realized that I didn't really want to be a prisoner. Though I do like the idea of "nesting" at home with my family, I want to be outside, take a drive, go some place. I don't want to be afraid to be away from home. Truth is, my home probably isn't any safer than anywhere else. It's just cozier.
So I'm packing up the kid, and in the morning we're taking a little road trip down south to visit my Dad, B's Grampa. It's a 4 hour drive, with potty and snack breaks. It will be the farthest from home I've been in a long time.
P isn't going - he has to work. Also, he kind of relishes the idea of a few days at home alone to do his boy things. Whatever those are.
We'll be back Saturday night. I want to be home all day on Sunday. For some reason. I need to be home on Sunday.
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