I think it might take a few days to get back on my feet. Or get my timing back. Or get used to being home. Call it what you will, it's all the same sort of thing.
It's one think if it's just you. If you have a day to sleep and nap when you want, to eat when you want. But I have the kids. My schedule is dictated by theirs. Nicholas, who refused to sleep on the plane on the way back, started crying five minutes before we reached home, and did not stop until we let him climb into bed just before 7pm. Andy, on the other hand, who has slept through a good deal of the flight to NY and ALL of the flight to Boston and then half of the trip home from Lillian's, refused to fall asleep at all, so I rocked him until we were both asleep. Then he woke up at 3:30 AM.
Three. Thirty. In. The. Morning.
Lucky for him I have a sense of humor.
But I did sleep deeply last night. And when I woke up I had the unsettling sensation of not knowing where I was. Upon opening my eyes I tried to make sense of my surroundings in the dark, and I mistook the TV cabinet for one of the open arch-type doorways in my parents' dwelling.
When I realized where I was and things fell into place I was hit with the difference in architecture. There everything is rounded and curved, stone and high ceilings, and that pink-red color. And here, in our home, we have harsh angles and drywall and if you're over six feet you might be able to change the ceiling bulb without a step-stool.
Also, it is under 60 degrees here and raining.
So while I wander around in my dream-state, please forgive my absent minded-ness.
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