Eleven More Days

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I’m itching.

I’m itching to pack up everything and tell Adam it won’t fit. No way. Not this year. Whatever will we do?

I’m itching to hear Adam say, “Yes, it will fit. It always does. Stack everything in the dining room. I’ll make it work.”

I’m itching for him to make everything fit.

I’m itching to sit next to Adam for hours on end, listening to the ipod, propping my bare feet on the dashboard, chewing gum and Red Vines alternately to keep me busy.

I’m itching for the pleasure I get out of Wacky Places: “The Palm Springs of Washington”, Bliss, Idaho.

I’m itching for pretty farms and Blue Mountains and long stretches of sagebrush.

Ahhhh, sagebrush.

I’m itching for are-we-there-yet-how-much-longer-I-have-to-use-the-bathroom-no-I-can’t-wait.

I’m itching for the home stretch, south of Twin Falls when Nevada starts to seep into my psyche and make me happy.

I’m itching for all that sky.

Have I mentioned the sagebrush?

I’m itching for “the bumpy road” when we really know we’re almost there.

I’m itching for the sweet sweet scent of willows which makes me want to cry. I love it that much.

I’m itching to turn into my parents’ lane. See their house as we go around that last curve. See the chairs on the front porch. Waiting. See the bird feeder with kamikaze hummingbirds.

I’m itching to throw my arms around them all…mom, dad, sisters, brothers, unsuspecting and somewhat willing nieces and nephews, maybe even Frank the tree (my dad names things).

I’m itching for my mom’s food.

I’m itching to heft my dad’s amazing art in my hands and see it up close and personal.

I’m itching to lie on Marianne’s couch (I first started laying on her couch when I was pregnant with Braeden and I still think it might be my favorite spot in America) and let my sisters and sisters-in-law solve all my troubles with their wit and wisdom and empathy.

I’m itching to let my brothers make me laugh until my cheeks hurt.

I’m even itching for the return journey when I’m road weary and had my fill. I love dropping down out of Snoqualmie Pass and feel the water flow back into my dehydrated-from-the-desert cells.

Home again. My hair will spring back with the humidity and I’ll love my little house all the more after the absence.

Pass the calamine lotion.

Because I’m itching.