Maine’s House

Jan 2, 2009 005

Tomorrow we head home from our mini vacation. We’ll wait for the snow to slow and pack our belongings and head back to real life. To the calendar {which I’ve vowed not to overfill this year}, laundry, grocery list, the chores. We’ll head back to our flannel sheets, coffee cups that seem made for the grasp of our hands, and the possibility of creative projects and endeavors. Even though it’s only been a few days, home is calling. It always does.

We spend quite a bit of time up  here throughout the year. It’s where our family gathers. Summer beach trips, Christmas extravaganzas, family reunions and get togethers. It’s my inlaws second home {our second home as my father in law likes to tell us}. Fynn calls it Maine’s house. I like that.

This time was the first that we were here without them. And it felt a little lonely, even with the noise from the kids and the neighbors. My mother in law has a way of making this place home. She brings out decorations and special touches that they keep hidden from the renters. I tried, but it wasn’t the same.

Our visit this time was different, but actually quite lovely. Yesterday we had the company of good friends and conversation, babies and laughter, take out and trips to the pool. We opened the doors to make memories of our own here, and the day ended with heavy sighs and the best nights sleep we’ve all had in… months. As the snow fell this morning the kids and I packed up and met up with a new friend and her family, who I already knew was a kindred spirit. We chatted and played, the morning passing quickly. {If anyone is wondering, Jo is wonderful. Warm, sweet, and can make a fabulous latte! It warms my heart to know she’s within driving distance!}

The day continued with the kids refusing to nap, a little movie watching, an early dinner, a trip to the pool for me and my water loving son, and then an early bedtime. All welcomed with open arms. I’m looking around at the quiet condo, Lucas and I sprawled out on the couch watching the Celtics. Sippy cups and snack bowls scattered, toys under the chair and in the lobster trap {sorry Papa… we’ll get them out!}, diapers in the dryer and swim suits hanging in the bathroom. While they’re not pretty or decorative, it’s possible our touches made this little condo a home for the past few days. As we unpack tomorrow, two states away {where else but New England can you drive an hour and pass through two states?}, we’ll hear a faint call from Maine’s house.



Filed under Uncategorized

6 responses to “Maine’s House

  1. Sounds idillic! I’ve never been to Maine, but know I’d love it. I’m relaxed just having read your words so I can’t imagine how you feel!

    Welcome home!

  2. Sounds like you’ve had a lovely time. The day before the end of vacation is always tough because you know it’s nearing an end. Enjoy this evening, my friend. 🙂

  3. Hello Corinne,

    I followed you over here from Boy Crazy’s website

    In all of Colorado’s beauty, I still long for summer’s in New England, not so much for the winter, which holds its own beauty but the sun is so much warmer here.

    Anyway, nice to find you.

  4. “Maine’s house” — I love that!
    I’m glad you had such a wonderful vacation…what a great place to ring in a new year! Enjoy today, and I hope you & your family have a smooth transtion back to “real life” once home.

  5. I, for one, am so glad you guys came up to “Maine’s house” this year. It was so much fun to meet you and the kids!
    Have a safe trip back home and a smooth transition back to routine (and another round of paci withdrawal). 🙂

  6. Maine’s house– adorable!! Love the pic– Paige doing some light reading 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s