I used to travel.
I used to board airplanes and sit for hours and hours because it was the only way to get to the other side of the world.
I used to walk into the homes of people whom I only understood one of two words of their entire language.
I used to barter for a better price at the local market.
I used to watch the sunset over a new city skyline.
That’s something I used to do.
Now I don’t.
Now I, like so many women I met on my many adventures, am the wife of the house.
I clean, cook, parent, teach and learn.
I kiss the ouchies, give the mom look, find new playgrounds and try different recipes.
I scour the internet to make sure I’m buying the best product at the best price.
I watch for developmental milestones, watch the clock for bedtime, sweep the kitchen and supervise the oldest as she mops.
I pray over the meals, sing the Disney songs, answer the never-ending questions and ask about what they learned today.
That is what I do now.
And I’m alright with it.
I am home. I am comfort and snuggles and security.
Some day my kids will go on their own adventures.
Some day they’ll watch the sunset over a new city and maybe they’ll think of me, maybe they won’t.
Maybe my kids will grow up with the same travel bug I did.
Maybe they won’t get homesick when they go to camp, maybe they won’t mind living far away, or dream of leaving Ohio – even if it’s only for a season.
But I’ll be here. I’m always here. I’m always mom.
That’s what I do now.
And I’m perfectly fine with that.