We had such a wonderful celebration filled weekend last week. The secret that everybody had kept was well worth the 'little white lies' to give Emma the surprise of the year: On Friday night Vera pretended to bring Kevin home but instead got Stephen from the airport.
And just like that, we were all home together. And it was fabulous. Marvelous. And I am running out of superlatives.
My girls turned 19 years young on Easter Sunday. There was a LOT of 'twinning' going on, they were as happy to be together as we were having them home.
This was Stephen's first time over-here, and I hope we didn't scare him too much with our family antics and unorthodox ways. My love put the guys to work with the wood piles, and Thijs showed them how to split some pieces for the camp fire. Jake proved stronger than the ax- he split that instead of wood.
After the -per the girls' request- home-cooked family dinner (unfortunately without Lauren as she had to work! And Ben wasn't there either but Jake was) more friends came over and there was music (thank you John!) and merrymaking until quite late at night. Or early morning.
And now of course they are all back to whence they came and busy with study and finals and end of year and apartment hunting and work and all that. And so are my love and I, busy, pursuing our own 'interests'. Even far apart, we are still a family. I do miss them, but it is good this way, as it should be.
But the protestant upbringing in me makes me very uncomfortable with all this happiness. Because these things are fragile. And I don't believe in 'good things happen to good people'. Not at all. So maybe I do need to shatter some glass every now and then? (although I am not superstitious either).