Bean and I are spending the night away from home.
My generous and compassionate daughter volunteered for a fundraising bike ride to help support the program Auntie works for (if you don’t know, Auntie works with an outfit that provides all kinds of services for underprivileged kids, because she’s awesome like that). The ride is 25 miles in Foxboro (the town in Massachusetts where the Patriots play home games), and the fundraiser is putting us up for the night (a situation for which I am profoundly grateful; we’d have had to leave at something like 3:30 in the morning to get here on time if we’d had to drive here the day of the ride).
I always feel strangely conflicted about being away. Part of me likes the change of pace, the new environment, the shaking up of the routine. Part of me likes having the whole bed to myself, and watching t.v. from that bed. Part of me likes being in a new place, and part of me likes being away with my baby, my sister, and her wife.
The rest of me misses the rest of my family, and my bed, and my cat. The rest of me misses watching TiVo on the couch with my husband before curling up and drifting off, and I anticipate missing my shower and my morning Ovaltine.
It’s only one night, though, so I think the whole thing balances out.