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It's not even eight o'clock and the house is silent.  The children have already been out for an hour.  I'm ready to turn out the light but have so much to say, know that -- as always --  the only way out is through.

We are journey-er's, my family, me, our sweet team.  We fought a long fight to make it back home, logged extra hours in airports, in shuttles, trains, buses, unplanned hotel rooms.  And I had a hunch on the way to the airport in LA that something was bound to go wrong with our travel home.  It had just been too good a trip.  So that's the karmic price we pay for our absolutely satisfying adventure.  A little extra airport time, some cancelled flights, an icy tarmac.  I'll take it.

This is one of those trips that eludes any sort of blow by blow.  It was a bi-coastal adventure, a celebration of our histories, our origins, our families.  It was a sharing of our children with their east and west coast families, oldest friends, favorite haunts.  It was all four of us all together all day.  That's super cool.

I felt it within half an hour of our time home.  I was multi-tasking again.  I was unpacking bags and uploading photos and not sitting on the floor with the kids and their Legos.  I made myself stop, sit, and immediately found myself folding their laundry, chastising them for how quickly they messed up their space.  That was when Solomon began jumping on my back declaring that he was a puma and he wanted to battle the cheetah.  You are the cheetah, mama.  You strike with your paws. We are having a battle.  

Because that's the mama that they get on vacations.  A mama who is wholly present and ready for battle.  Battles of love and sunshine and sandcastles.  Battles through the extravagant streets of Times Square, their hands clenched in ours, our city roots alert and ready.  Battles of splendor through little slices of hamachi and unagi, sushi a way to the culinary core of our foursome.  Battles of beds as we moved from place to place, the kiddos a heap at our feet, snuggled into one another, a mess of California curls.  Battles as they meet new people and move beyond their comfort zone.  Eliana became really good at shaking hands, looking people in the eye, saying, Nice to meet you with a humble self-assurance that makes me melt with pride.  Post bedtime battles when Jeffy and I actually have enough energy to hang out together.  Alone!  We even went on some little late night excursions around New Jersey and New York, the music loud, us remembering a time not so long ago when that sort of freedom was the norm, so happy just to share space, check things out, hear the next song on the sound system.

Solomon helped me extend an odd and unexpected metaphor.  The battle.  So I'll keep it rolling.  My new battle, a battle I am uncovering in this very moment, is a battle for this lovefest to continue, even when we return to our real life.  I vow to battle a bit more consciously, flex my muscles, draw my sword for this in-the-moment joy.  I will battle for the spontaneous bursts of I love you's and kisses and gratitude that have held us, have halo-ed us in bright city light, in San Clemente sunshine, in rolling waves and applause from the Broadway audience, in another meal together, another gracious host, another generous heart giving to my family, appreciating us wholly, so glad to have us around.  I will battle for focused time with my children when we are just together, one moment blending gracefully into the next.   I will battle to hold on to perspective -- know that there is only this moment, this family, this go around. 

I will battle for gratitude, may she always prevail.