Airplane Ticket Home for Thanksgiving: $727 Understanding Husband: Priceless

If I had been five years old this morning rather than thirty-five, I might have laid down on the floor and thrown a fit.  Arms swinging and legs kicking and screaming through tears, "I want to go home!"

But I'm thirty-five so I had to settle with sulking crankiness and a few tears that welled up but never quite escaped.

In the shower I drew a vertical line in my mind and started a list of Pros and Cons with both words written in thick, black letters.  I tried to keep them even, too.  Under Cons I had, "Can't walk out my front door, get in my car and drive anywhere I want."  Under Pros, though, I had, "Can walk out my front door and walk to a multitude of shops and other things."  Other things like, "Can't have a burger and a fountain diet Coke at Wendy's" were harder to balance and I gave up.  It crossed my mind to actually sit down with a pen and paper and make a list, hoping that the Pros would outweigh the Cons but that really didn't seem like a very good idea.  Instead I continued on with my sulking crankiness.

Matt got the worst of it, I think.  I wrinkled my nose at anything he
suggested that we do with his day off.  I believed myself when I told him to pick something and that I would go along with it happily.  I think I even flashed a smile.  Until he actually suggested something.  More nose wrinkling and finally I just crawled back in bed.  I didn't want to go out and be
reminded that I live in an entirely different continent and yet I
didn't want to stay home.  I wanted to clean and unpack yet those were
also the absolute last things I wanted to do.  

I finally decided that laying in bed was about the worst way to deal with homesickness so I dragged myself out of bed and called up to Matt, "All right, let's go to Stourhead."

Unfortunately, we met a wall of dark clouds about ten minutes into the drive and decided a walk wasn't really such a great idea.  After a look at the map we decided to drive to Marlborough where we wandered around the shops.  I even came close to a fountain soda when I had a bottled diet Coke at Pizza Express where we talked about good things like Christmas and what kinds of traditions we wanted to start as a family.  

I know this isn't the last of my homesick days and the days I wake up feeling fine - when I wake up without thinking about the differences outside our front door - far outnumber the days of sulking crankiness; that's a fact that I need to keep in mind.  And I'm lucky to have an understanding husband.  I know I'm not fun to live with on these bad days.  I know even as I'm wrinkling my nose at suggestions for the day that I'm being difficult and I admit it freely with copious apologies.  He doesn't patronise me with statements like, "It'll get better," he just listens and lets me get through my mood no matter how long it lasts.  This morning he even suggested that I go home for Thanksgiving but that - surprise surprise - only merited more nose wrinkling from me.  Honestly, I have something better than an expensive ticket home for a short visit: I have a husband who is understanding and tolerant and I have him all of the time.  There's no longer a five hour time difference or unbearable 4,000 miles between us and I think that is worth more than a few rough days.