There was no traffic on the way to the airport, the parking attendant picked up my car keys before I could leave them on the ground in the lot, all the boarding pass kiosks were available, and the gate agent let me walk down the jetway earlier than everyone except the First Class passengers so that no one would bump my still vaguely-unstable-on-uneven-surfaces self.
With only one-third of its seats filled, the plane was blissfully peaceful. Everyone had room to spread out, and the only baby on the flight screeched once and then was silent. The flight attendants were helpful and unobtrusive, the tail winds got us into O'Hare twenty-nine minutes early, and no one was stupid about getting bags out of the overhead compartments. I was in the car with Seret and Mr. Dreamy Cakes, on our way to Little Cuter and SIR, in no time. The traffic was moving, the roads were dry, and we didn't get lost. Not once.
My girl is a great cook; even her OMG-I-forgot-to-get-hors-d'oeuvres display of goat cheese and toasted bread was fabulous. She's having such a good time using all the beautiful wedding gifts that it would have been churlish to complain about anything at all. A giant Nambe wooden salad bowl (did you know that Nambe was doing woods, now?), unchipped and perfectly sized dinner plates, a decanter that poured perfectly - I'd forgotten how much fun new stuff can be. The kids are so proud of themselves, and rightly so. They've created a home out of a renovated house.
Chicago's western suburbs are filled with creeks and prairie grasses. Their neighborhood is bounded by a path through one such oasis and Little Cuter and I followed SIR and Thomas-the-Wonder-Dog over the bridge and past the ducks, the boys racing ahead, one on roller-blades and one on the world's fastest paws. I managed a mile or so, using one pole as needed.
We took the dog to the groomer, had a lovely lunch in downtown Naperville, and came back to watch Indiana defeat Michigan in a blow-out-turned-nail-biter. Now, dog retrieved and post being written, we're melting into Cozy Rosie, Douglas's couchy cousin, snuggled under wedding afghans (thank you, Aunt Terri, it's quite wonderful) with football lulling us to sleep.
I hate that they are so far away; I love that they make me feel like I'm at home. I'm away, but it feels familiar. With the skies darkening as a wintry mix of precipitation comes in as predicted, the comfort of family and football and blankets and hugs is feeling pretty perfect right now.
I'm a little sleepy, denizens, and Cozy Rosie is singing a siren song.......