Homesick

I decided not to go home this weekend, though the thought tugs at me after only a month. I was home for Christmas, spent time with the little one, endured excessive drama from Brother and his wife.

I’ve been quite content to sit here in my house, quietly doing some work, cleaning, running errands, getting together with the occasional friend. Since the last visit to my parents’ was so emotionally draining, I’ve been telling myself to just stay away.

But I stopped at the grocery store this morning to get treats to take to work (because I’m nice like that), and there was a grandmother standing with a blonde little angel in front of me. She interrupted the cashier to ask where the pacifiers were kept.

Then she shuffled slowly by with her granddaughter as she toddled unsteadily toward the correct aisle.

They returned before the woman in front of me was done writing her check, and the little girl was starting to fuss. After picking the toddler up, her grandma opened the package and gave her the pacifier, which she promptly placed in her mouth.

Quietly whimpering, she rested her head on her grandma’s shoulder as I watched with a smile.

“Go ahead.” I motioned, sensing the pair was growing tired.

The grandma demurred, but I insisted. “I’m not in a hurry. Really. Please go ahead.”

They scooted around me and handed the package to the cashier. After another smile in my direction, they headed out to the parking lot.

My mom loves our little one like that. She fought a war with one of her daycare providers over a pacifier. I think the phrase “My daughter almost took her boppy to kindergarten and she has a PhD! There’s nothing wrong with using one for comfort when she’s away from home!” was used. They changed childcare arrangements shortly thereafter.

When I was babysitting, always nervous at being on my own (what if, like in Gremlins, I do something to her and she morphs into some diabolical creature? Sure, she’s cute now, but I don’t have enough experience with babies to be positive I won’t hurt her or vice versa), I realized after Brother dropped her off that I was sans boppy.

Mom left work to get one, quickly returning home so she could spend the remainder of the day with me (I know she came for the little one, but I like to feel important). She’s such a good grandma – her eyes sparkle when she sees the little one, will sit for hours just holding her, rocking in a chair.

But I dealt with my feelings – got a bit teary, ached with the desire to run back home, pick up the dog and head north to my family. But there’s work to be done, wars with the computer to be waged. So I went to the office and spent a relatively sad day.

On my way home, I wanted a reward. So I stopped for a Sonic Blast and settled in to wait for my oreo goodness. It’s pleasant outside, so I kept my window rolled down after ordering, happily watching the people and listening to the Oldies on Sonic Radio.

Then a song came on that immediately made my head drop to the side as I smiled. Dad sings to the little one. We all do. It immediately quiets her and she stops any sort of crying/screaming/fussing to listen to our only-slightly-off-key music. I stick to songs my grandparents sang to me. School Days, K-K-K-Katie (and it's Katie, not Katy, because that's how I spell my name), Fishies – the good stuff. Mom also goes with traditional baby songs – lullabies, nursery rhymes, the alphabet song.

Dad mixes it up and sings classic rock and oldies. His favorite for a time went

Baby, baby…baby don’t leave me.
Please don’t leave me...all by myself.

That’s all he’d sing – over and over. He contends that her first word was "baby" though I argue she was going for "bottle" and stopped short. He also makes up songs for her – about waiting for Grandma to get home from work, watching the dog across the street, fixing macaroni and cheese for lunch. But many of these songs, at some point, include the “baby, baby” lines.

So I heard it at Sonic, paid for my treat, and headed to my house. And I ached, because as lovely as this place is, much as I enjoy the people and the weather, as productive as I am at work, it’s not home in the real sense of the word.

As much as my family drives me crazy sometimes - as silly and melodramatic and annoying as they might be - I miss them ever so much.