Surprisingly (or it was to me), coming home from Mom's funeral was much more difficult than going to it. There were many reasons for this--the fact that I would be returning to the ho-hum elements of my life being part of it. Thoughts of laundry and children needing things when I felt kind of empty, confused and sad just kind of bummed me out.
Which is why it was so nice to come home to cards and a potted plant, to friends willing to give me a break if I needed it. Thank you all. You've been wonderful.
I also came home to happy kids, a fully decorated banner reading, "We love Mom," a small perennial fall flower, and--wait for it--a fully potty-trained 2-year-old. I had been unable to get Emma to consistently poop in the potty. I don't know why, but she'd request a diaper or hold it any time she needed to go. It stressed me out (potty training mistake number one, but I couldn't help it). I don't know how Kip managed and I certainly don't care. I came home to a little girl who pooped in the potty. Oh, the loveliness of it all.
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