This morning, it took us one entire hour to drive 4 miles to Gymboree. Granted, it was raining and it was the end of rush hour, but still.. an hour? I sat, complacently, listening to Harper play nicely in her car seat (thank goodness) and we accepted our fate. We're used to it.
I patted myself on the back for leaving 15 minutes early (in anticipation of a Pumpkin Spice latte, at whose source I just stared longingly three lanes over in gridlocked traffic). I even felt a little lucky because there were no wrecks to make us late.
It was in that moment, in my acceptance, that I realized we have been away too long. ..That it's time to go home.
Where I can pull out of my driveway in Fayetteville, NC and pull into Carter-Finley stadium in an hour and 10 minutes.
Where Harper will hear Hank Williams, Jr. on the radio instead of on CDs.
Where we can burn leaves in our back yard in the Fall.
Where we don't have to pay $20/person for a hayride through a pumpkin patch.
Where hearing gunshots probably means that it's hunting season.
Where we can teach our children the most efficient way to eat a scuppernong grape and a boiled peanut.
Where we can look at each other on a Saturday morning and decide to be on a beach in two hours flat.
Where the weak grow strong and the strong grow great.
Where Harper and Henry will belong, just like we did, and will know exactly where to go when they grow up and grow weary.