But the emotional toll it takes on everyone is never any different. Grandma says she always starts feeling bad at least 2 days before we leave, even when 7-year-old Rosie is raising cane. And as we wind down our time here after a 2-month summer in America, 9-year-old Liam starts asking how much time he's got left. What he really means is how many more bike rides on Grandma's suburban streets, how many more goodnight hugs from Gramps, and how many more breakfasts with his cousins and the dogs.
At the same time the kids are all looking forward to getting back home to our neighborhood in Dubai, to their international schools, to the beach that'll still be too hot to walk on when we get there on Sunday, to our Jordanian, Indian and New Zealand neighbors, to the most fabulous malls in the world, to the water parks, the schwarma stands and yes, to a doting housekeeper. But we are also going back to the reckless roads, the occasional cultural misunderstandings, the homesickness during Thanksgiving and to a place nearly a world away from our family's very solid American core. We are indeed so lucky yet so sad about leaving again that I really wonder is there something wrong with us?
And so it's at about this time when I get that low-grade headache, partly from the melancholy of leaving my parents in their giant house behind us, but also from the excitement of being re-united with Billy who's spent most of the summer without us working in the desert.
The most excellent part of this year's return is that I am not going back to my college faculty post. I am taking a break to soak in the Arabian culture from a new perspective, as our in-house homework over-seer, taxi-driver and piano page-turner. Wish me luck! And do come and visit.
