And we love being the ones to whom people travel, not least because I am sitting in my sweat pants, drinking a glass of wine, while my parents and my sister and her baby board a plane for a flight and then a layover and then another flight and then a longish drive.
But while traveling is hard, returning home is almost purely delightful. Being left at home is not.
An hour ago my house had eight people in it. Five adults, one toddler, and two babies. Three of them left for the airport, one left to continue his rural rotation, and two of them went to bed.
I am that bizarre mixture of relieved to have my own space again, and very sad. Tomorrow it's just me and my ladies, doing our thing, changing all our own diapers and making all our own meals, and counting down til the next visitors.