I miss Emma. Standing-over-the kitchen-sink-weeping miss Emma. Emma is in Ireland with her dad, her grandma, and her grandma’s brother and sister-in-law. (This is actually a much more fun group than the generational description would suggest.) They left Friday and will be gone for almost two weeks. Her dad’s been promising her a trip to Ireland for as long as she can remember, and they are finally there.
This is giving me a preview of what life will be like in two years, when she goes to college. And I don’t like it one bit. (I do recognize, though, that she’s likely to get really icky between now and that time – part of the separation process – to the point where I may be really happy to see her go.) But right now I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all.
You see, it was only last week that she looked like this:
(She’s the one on the right.)
And now she looks like this:
(She’s the one on the left.)
We are all missing her. Even David, who usually tells her he doesn’t like her anymore.
Margaret put her head down on her arms and said, “I’m missing Emma.” David said, “I really miss Emma. I even like it when she tortures me.” (Which is pretty much all the time.)
Safe travels, Emma. Come home soon. And oh, yeah, have the time of your life.