When I lived at home with my parents, I remember waking up in the early mornings with no worries as to what would ever happen 3 or 4 years down the road. I was in the nest still and oh-so-comfortable I was.
Closing my eyes as if I were still in the same very moment 3 years ago....I would roll out of bed like a bear that had been in deep hibernation. With no surprise, there would be breakfast ready with the light reflecting off the steam dancing from the freshly home cooked meals. My dad would be at the table with his Iwana in one hand, a cup of Folder's coffee in the other...getting ready for one of his every long days. My mother, well of course, she would be at the sink probably prepping for lunch already. I would hear the chickens going off, lecturing the world that it was time to get up. My sisters would all be either in their rooms getting ready or hogged up in the bathroom. Their mainstream music would be blaring and a blow dryer or two would be going at it with someone's wild hair. Our living room would be drowning with the sun's beams because my mother always had to have all the curtains open once the sun came up, I suppose, to wake everyone up.
We didn't use a bell to say that it was time to eat. My mother's voice was the very instrument of that point. When she yells for everyone to eat...we all scatter over, reaching around, taking our turns, and whoever is lucky enough to find a seat first gets to sit at the little kitchen table that we've had for over 15 years and eat an awkward, but very familiar breakfast together, except for maybe 1 or 2 of us. This worked so well though because it was mostly the younger siblings that would voluntarily stay in the living room to eat and watch cartoons or MTV. I always sat at the table or at least tried to because I enjoyed having conversations with my dad. Or at least conversations that he would allow because my dad is such a simple man and does not speak much...the polar opposite of my mother.
Just thinking about simple moments like these make me wonder where time has gone? Also where has the appreciation for family time gone too? When I am sitting at my apartment and eating dinner without my family, I think back and have a fob/emo moment. I wonder how my family is doing? I wonder if they're still eating together the same? If they are, I wonder if they think of me? As the title for this blog, I think I'm just homesick sometimes when it comes to being so used to a large family and then downsizing to just my sister and I. I've gotten used to it over the years, but no one should ever take family time for granted. I know I did once for a brief time of bitterness and there is no past that I can rekindle, but I know my future will be bejeweled with so many memories to come and I can't wait.
I just felt like writing, that's all. Oh, and PS...missing my family too.