The boy is home. He’s in his bed. He’s sporting a full on mustache that I don’t like, but I like him, so I’ll take it. The house is so much fuller when Jake is home. Instead of feeling like there’s one more person here, I feel like there are many. (Ally’s having a sleepover, is it that?) Nah, it’s the original fab four. It’s the core family. It’s the the primal rightness of being together as a unit. Important note: I’m not painting a Norman Rockwell, here; we’re just like every family, who argues, and annoys one another, but damn if we don’t love each other madly.
This year, I felt such an urgent need for Jake to be here, under this roof. I don’t know whether it’s the instability in the world, the fragility of life that’s so garishly loud right now, or just because I love him. But I couldn’t wait to feel the feeling I have sitting on the couch right now, smothered in polartec, while everybody is upstairs still sleeping, the good feeling of having your whole family in one place, knowing in this moment, that they’re safe, and they’re yours.