We flew into New York City on a red eye flight this morning, all six of us. I packed for almost two days straight prior to leaving and still managed to leave Zoe’s socks behind. I mean, how does one forget socks? Traveling with four children is a level of intensity that even I was surprised at.
Justin and I chose the divide and conquer route on the plane. He took the boys, three across towards the back of the plane and I opted for more leg room in the bulkhead with Zoe and Evvie. By the time we reunited on the other side of the country, we were all full of excitement and butterflies and the sweet oblivion of happy exhaustion.
I had wanted to see the skyline of the city while driving in from the airport, but we all were asleep by the time we got to the hotel. The day was spent visiting old playgrounds and having dinner at our favorite restaurant, each one of us sharing our memories of times and places from a life that feels so far away yet almost like we never left. I can’t quite describe what it feels like to be back here with my children, it’s as whole as our family has felt since we moved to California. Maybe it’s because we’re all practically sleeping on top of each other in this little hotel room, or because none of us has any other obligations presently, but I think this is what vacation is supposed to feel like. I have everything I need right here-that is a feeling to recognize and cherish whenever and wherever, and to seek it out actively.
We walked all around the neighborhood by our hotel today in our old stomping grounds, the kids on their scooters and Evvie tied on tightly to my chest. We talked the entire day in-between activities, on practically zero sleep. That’s New York City for you, though. It’s the heartbeat and adrenaline under your feet when you could swear you had none in your bones.
I don’t know how I ever left, but I’m glad I can still come back with all of my city kids and it’s just the same.