The Gift

At last, my boy came home today. He landed at some ungodly hour in London and got the first shuttle home. He looked bedraggled when he walked into arrivals, yet he managed to talk in his ever so long tones all the way home. I was trying my best not to ask him to speak up and stop mumbling, it's not the first thing you want to hear really is it, but it was very hard.

In the house he paced the kitchen floor as he spoke to us. I had to tell him to stop! My hearing is not what it was and the slightest distraction means I can't focus on words. He stopped still and looked at me with that look. The one that for just a week I had never been able to imagine on his face. The one that says so much without a single word being uttered.

I got in first - time for bed said Zebedee, sleep for just a few hours then we will get you through the day by keeping busy. Shall I unpack for you? With my girl packing is done with care, worn clothes are bagged and ready to lift out to wash. With my boy you can guarantee that little has been worn, but much rummaging around has been done and everything in the bag has a distinct o'de boy about it. And there it is, the gift - a suitcase full of malodourous clothing I would rather not have to deal with.

He is still talking, all about the most wonderful experiences, wrapping himself around a tree, hurtling over moguls till his knees and stomach hurt, and as always a curious incident involving a boy, a toilet, and some flooding!!!!

Six hours later and all the lights are on, his bike is back in the hallway and he is routing around for more food. Welcome home sweetness, I've missed you - honest!