Jennifer Dulos

Take me home, country road

Okay, so despite all this sleep, and lovely “down time” with my husband, in a lovely, far off city that I’d never been to before this trip, I am so longing to get home! To my baby! And to my babies!

My friend Laurel says to take vacations when you need them. Otherwise they can be vaguely irritating, even annoying. I did not need this trip, truthfully. I felt a tug with the kids, more so due to the move, and the fact that for 4 weeks straight, the two before and two directly after the move set point date, that first Friday night in the house, February 17, I had to sort of let others take care of the kids to an unhappily profound degree, while I dealt with packing, and then unpacking. And the kids were more my “reward,” and less my true and actual (the life I craved) — life!

I’ve missed them terribly and now with these 4 days away, I miss them even more insanely: More. And again, in that joke about the guru: Sheldon, it’s enough already!!! I am screaming inside my own own head.

Take me home, country road, as I played the John Denver song for the boys while we were down in Boca together. They listened to John Denver with me. They indulged their mom and her silly seventies memories. They are ever so kind to me and allow me to to be myself. For however long this lasts. I will take it right now.

I am here in the room, Fotis is exercising again. His rib is feeling nearly all better. He feels he can waterski soon. He goes to Greece on Tuesday for a week, partially for business, and partially to reconnect with his friends there. Chiefly his best friend: Andreas.

Right now our wedding ring is being worn on a modern necklace of a Christ on the cross that Andreas gave to him, right next to Jesus. (His knuckle is swollen.) He says it does not fit anymore. So there I am, on a symbol of friendship with Andreas, right next to the Son of God, around his neck, but now actually next to the sink, while he works out.

Before we got married he told me that his friends mean everything to him. That there is nothing he would not do for a friend. That they rank even above his own family. I think at the time he told me I was just above his friends. But sometimes I feel we’re all on the same level. That’s okay, I guess. It’s been 8 years. Five kids. He started his business the second we wed basically. It’s been an uphill road, and we’ve accomplished so much. And we’ve not had much time for each other.

A reason as to why we take these trips: A) to see the world, one weekend at a time. But really, B) to reconnect. To have what we did not front load at the beginning of our lives together, just sheer, unabashed Time together – alone.

This time alone, I get the mornings to myself, but the rest of the day we are at the hip. Quiet or talking, reading or texting, staring up close at the colorful buildings of Buenos Aires, or eating an ice cream. In the back of a Taxi, walking Palermo Soho or Palermo Hollywood, or Palermo (insert any obsenity of your choice here), as we joked about other possible Palermos there could be — together. Alone. Us.

Us. What is that? It has become a bit eclipsed or just shaded by other looming trees that have grown tall overhead, trees that we intentionally planted oursleves. We need to step out and into the light of just Us. Just light. Just the warmth of the sun on our skins. And no other information.

Us. At the restaurant Fervor in Recoleta, our first night here.

Him and I. Still committed. Still connected. Still here, if you peel back all the other layers of paint painted on top.

We are down deep as the base coat. Altered. Sometimes weary. Not always in sync. But not the Backstreet Boys either. Sorry, I can’t help myself.

I love you, HB. It’s been good to just stare at you. And to be in your company. Quietly. For four days straight.

Now, let’s get us home to our babies!!!

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