I hate to say it, but I don’t think I’d be able to continue blogging for very long if we were to settle down. Without that twinge of uniqueness that I get from our every day life while out traveling—even when a day consists of nothing more than going to the grocery store—I just don’t think I could continue mustering up the energy to put it all into words and pics. Maybe I could—but I doubt it.
I feel like the longer we go on traveling and living abroad the more it becomes our life and the less chance we have of ever returning to normal. The minute I cross the border back into the States I feel like life is mundane. Literally the very minute. Like, as I handed my passport to the border agent I was thinking, “Dude, you’re going to do this for the next thirty years? Aren’t you bored?” And I fully realize what an asshole I sound like saying that, but man, I just can’t help it any more.
We visit the States now and I just don’t feel like I belong in it. I can visit family, repair garage doors, clean gutters, order a bunch of stuff from Amazon, shop at the mall, and a thousand other things All-American, but I feel like I am just stealing the whole time. Like I’m having a one-night-stand. Slam, bam, thank-you ma’am, I’m going to sneak out the door and head back to Mexico with your underwear. And then I’m going to take all that stuff I bought and put it on my boat and run off to Guatemala, and Nicaragua, and wherever the hell I feel like, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
The worst thing is that Ali is much the same way. She can still get excited over the prospect of a little American shopping, and she loves her family as much as anyone, but after a week or so Stateside she’s jonesing nearly as badly as me. She comes across the border with a list in hand, checks the items off, and turns right around without regret. Her own one-night-stand complete.
I think these feelings may fluctuate along a series of bell curves. Up and down over the years, and that eventually an urge will strike, “Let’s go back.” On the other hand maybe it won’t.
Ouest had to move quickly or she wouldn’t get any cheese on that pizza.
She loved painting the garage with me. There is nothing better than sharing moments like these. She is such a sponge right now and just wants to be a part of everything. Which can be maddening at times, especially when it comes to conversations between Ali and me—as she just can’t help but interrupt. “What you two talking about? What you two talking about? What you two talking about?”
Tonight she killed me though. I was putting her to bed. We’d finished reading, the lights were off, and I was singing Twinkle, twinkle to her. The ritual. Then, “Papa?”
“I love you.”
The spontaneous hug, kiss, or I love you, is really the best part of being a parent.
I’ve never seen a dog more patient with kids than this one.