I have just had the visit of a lovely family – distant relatives: her great-grandmother was my grandmother’s sister, but family IS family. Wife (she’s the relative and women come first right?), husband and their two boys, eight and five.
Over the course of three days we managed to laugh, eat and in general enjoy each other: through the fall and gastro-entiritis of my youngest, through the who-knows-what-it-was illness of their youngest, through the multiple changes of schedules, through a slice of “normal” life.
The two boys are being well brought up, yet are still boys. Nary a harsh word, nary a scolding yet they were put to rights when they stepped over the border. Love!
Love also let us enjoy the time together in spite of the stress of all the supposed “upsets”; love kept us going when it was rough and love will forever be in my thoughts when I recall those few days.
We will have other visits, either here or at their house and they may well go much easier without messes and accidents, but I’m betting that this one is going to be the one we remember.
The icing on the cake: the message that the eight-year old left on my mini white board – if saying goodbye without prodding is not a message of love I don’t know what is! I have been unable to erase it all week.
P.S. the “yes!” was the result of my handing him the almost-empty Nutella jar.
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