After almost two weeks in the relative springlike weather of Seattle and Portland, the boys and I are headed back to Alaska tomorrow evening. I hear it snowed today.
My desire to return home is fueled mostly by the desire to get back to our normal routine, if indeed we do have one. I enjoy traveling, or at least think I enjoy traveling, until reality bites. Teenager and toddler fight for number one spot on who can be most irritating in the car ("He won't let me kick him!" "Mom, tell him to stop putting his fingers in my ears!"), Yukon refuses to be rushed through any restaurant as a self-proclaimed World's Slowest Eater, and I simply exist to referee, dole out juice and snacks, and pay off Wolf for good behavior.
Lest I sound catty, the trip overall was a great opportunity to show the boys the proverbial playgrounds of my childhood; we drove past the house my father grew up in, hiked some local trails, visited some family, heard good news.
But I like Alaska. It is our home, and it is calling us. I hear that Yukon did a militaristic cleaning job before he left. If this is true, I want to go there even more!