As I write, they are on the bus to the airport. By midnight, they'll be back in warm, humid Sg. By Monday, they will be back at their desks working as hard as every other Singaporean.
After nearly a week under one roof, being a household of six felt natural, almost as if this is how it's been for a long time.
Each morning, we would breakfast together before Shirlynn and SG went off in their hired car for a day trip to one of VIC's tourist attractions. In the evening, they would display (and sometimes share) their purchases, we might open a bottle of dessert wine or whatever wine connoisseur SG had bought, and we would enjoy hearing all about their day.
There is something about opening your home that makes for especially deep and intimate bonds.
You get to know each other's likes (Nescafe cappucino with a shot of milk here, "teh si siu dai" in Sg) and habits (taking pics at every photo opp). You get to see yourself through another's eyes. The dynamics of relationships shift slightly as everyone adjusts to a new context and environment.
The girls, esp Jordanne, benefited from having new adults around. It's nice for them to be with different people... and a good break for Mommy!
Aside from being spoiled rotten with sweet treats, having someone different to play peekaboo and watch Pete's A Pizza with, they got to practise their manners and be a part of the joy of having stayover guests. I hope this imprints positively on them as they grow up.
As I am continually finding, I enjoy my home and possessions better when I have friends to share them with. It's like, we've been so blessed with our cosy cottage and lovely local community, and hosting visiting friends seems like a great way to give back and share what we've received. Having the occasional visitor and house guest makes life more interesting, colourful and fuller.
Thank God for the gift of friends.
But even knowing that one grows from embracing the bitter with the sweet, and even remembering what Gandalf counselled at the final parting by the Sea ("I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil"), it was hard to say goodbye. Hard to articulate all the thoughts, prayers and blessings in my head.
All I could do was hug Shirlynn many times over, and cry silent tears as I drove home. The car felt different - lonely, somehow - with just the kids in the back seat instead of our friends in the front and me in the back with the girls.
So brutally back-to-usual.
Beth was lovely. As I sat at the wheel in our carport trying to compose myself, she leaned over and hugged me long and hard.
"Which side of the chest is the heart?" she asked as she handed me a tissue.
I said the left, and she gently patted me there.
How blessed I am to be the mother of my girls...
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