I sat next to a German woman on the plane. She didn’t speak English, but managed to communicate using a universal language – that of kindness. Her sincere smiles and heartfelt gestures of assistance to me, and the small baby in my arms, transcended the language barrier between us and I found myself grateful for the general goodness of people. Traveling with babies is hard. Kindness, at least, makes it easier.
3 hours and 13 minutes, and then we were on the ground. A quiet airport, a cheeseburger with too much mustard, and one more flight, this one shorter, and we were almost home. 
My heart sank a little as I looked at the clock. I would miss my kids, arriving home long past their bedtime. Instead, I called and said my I love yous and good nights over the phone. I made them promise they would wake me up with hugs and kisses first thing the next morning.
They had something for me, they said. A 
I couldn’t wait, I told them back.
I noticed the moment I pulled into my driveway. How could one not notice an array of packages taped to the wall beside the front door? Each one was wrapped carefully and decorated with wild flowers from the woods beside our home. My heart felt fit to burst. “I love these kids,” I thought. I looked closer.
“Sam, Lucy, Henry and Jordan Love You,” the note read. I carried my packages inside, and standing inside my sparkling kitchen, thoughtfully cleaned by my husband, I opened them up. Hand crafted snowflakes filled with expressions of love and admiration floated down to the table top.
“I love you.”
“I missed you.”
“You are pretty.”
In the final package, the biggest one, I found Sam’s carefully folded blanket – his favorite one. “It’s for Ivy,” he told me the next morning.
I enjoyed my traveling – the meeting people, the making connections. But nothing makes me feel quite so complete; nothing quite so satisfying, as coming home.
