Because quiet time is precious

There is a little boy curling into my side, breathing soft and slow.  I wonder if he's dreaming of Spiderman.  Spiderman's his latest hero, you know.  How I've missed this...

I'm home...and it's good.  So good.


It's also a shock.

Since yesterday evening, Mum and I have been fielding calls and texts from people who all seem to have the same question: "Is she home?"  I know, I know...as if they would be asking anything else, right?  Look - I expected this kind of influx, but I didn't expect that it would be feel quite this overwhelming.  So for now, I'm doing my best to lay low.

And so far, that's been a challenge.  It's as if I walked off the plane and straight into a giant to-do list...and I'm all for getting things done, but I need some time to be still.  It sure was a lot easier to find that in Galway.  Life there was slow, laid-back, less pressured...

Please don't read that, though, and think that my term abroad was a vacation.  None of it ever felt like a vacation.  For one thing, I had just as much schoolwork as I would have had at Union.  For another, I lost a dear one almost two months ago and dealing with that has been far from easy.  So to those of you who have already been using the word "vacation": understand that I wouldn't trade my time abroad for anything.  But a vacation is a break - a departure from "real life", in a way - and let me tell you: the past four months have been as real as it gets.

There's more to write, friends, but the jetlag will wear off faster if I try to sleep now.  Until tomorrow, then...