It is Sunday. It is my favorite time of day on the beach: that quiet time between afternoon and evening when the beach empties and the sun lowers and the sand still has the warmth of the day running between your toes. I look out to the waves and watch my Little Man and Miss M on the boogie boards, still. And I realize that I have loved this spot in the world best since I was a child, their age. And I know that they will bring their children here, or I hope they do…and they can love it as a home for their heart to rest too.
And then it crowds back in: we are at week nine. We are in the final countdown. The cultures are done. The final final (? yeah, it confuses us too) report is due at the embassy and doc on Wed.
And so once again, we are in a final countdown to launch.
We will soak up our last two days at the beach, gathering up the calm and the soothing of the waves and the sand…..packing it to overflowing as best we can in anticipation of the rocket launch of travel across the world to our new daughter and family.
A dear blog friend pointed out to me that this is our last time together as a family of nine.
Soon, we will be ten, together.
Officially we have to wait to Thursday (or God forbid, Friday, again) to get the all clear to go.
But, we all dare to believe that we are going.
And so, in my mind I have the checklist forming:
Donations: packed, still, in foyer.
Marta’s suitcase: packed, still, in foyer.
And then the list of to do’s before we go…..it can expand at warp speed in my brain.
But not yet.
For the next two days, I get to dig my toes in the sand and soak in the salty sun.
I am deeply grateful for the time here, in this special place.
I feel the countdown approach but I am going to push it back to enjoy this last sandy time on this beach before our world changes in my arms.
Or, I will pretend to…..because inside, I feel it.
The countdown, it’s beginning.