Home is Where the Rainbows Live

On Friday, Ben said to Josh, "I don't like tomorrow." This is because he knew we'd be leaving Mexico on Saturday.

I think we all empathized.

In spite of the wildcat drama (and an unfortunate meeting of Abby's forehead with a marble corner the following morning, resulting in a disconcerting amount of blood but, fortunately, no stitches), we had an amazing trip as our little family of four--it exceeded every expectation Josh and I had when we embarked on this adventure. By the end of the week, Ben was "swimming" in his floaties to the middle of the pool and back all by himself, Abby was greeting every staff person with an enthusiastic "hola," and Josh and I were marveling at the incredible lives we have created together.

It was with reluctance that we packed up our swimsuits and beach toys, bidding a fond farewell to our friendly waiters and hostesses and taking one last look at the stunning ocean cove we called home for seven days. Then it was back to reality as we squeezed into a tiny taxi and commenced our journey home.

Fortunately, our "reality" is pretty good. Ben looked out the airplane window as we were getting ready to land and said, "Mommy, we must be in Colorado because there are mountains over there." It's nice to leave one paradise knowing you're returning to another.

We drove home at sunset, watching the miles of gray clouds--amassed in dramatic displays of grandeur--turn varying intensities of orange and pink over the continental divide. As relaxing as it was to sit on our balcony in Puerto Vallarta and watch the waves below rise and fall in their endless worship of the shore, there is something intensely grounding about the rows and rows of pines, the rise of peak after peak of mountain top as far as the eye can see. It is home to my soul.

We exited the freeway onto the parkway, rounding the bend to turn onto the road that winds through the mountain valley to our neck of the woods. In her sweet voice, Abby questioned us from the backseat, "Whehr ih the wree-baoh?" Uncertain of what she said, we asked her to say it again. "Whehr ih the wree-baoh?" We still didn't understand.

"The green ball?" we guessed, trying to clarify.

But Ben responded with kind authority, "No, Abby, it hasn't rained. It's only there when it rains." Josh and I looked at each other, thoroughly lost, and asked him what Abby had said. "She's asking where the rainbow is," he informed us.

And then it all made sense. Josh explained to me that the three of them had seen a rainbow over the mountains on another gray evening when rounding this same bend. She remembered the moment and must believe this colorful gift exists there always. Her innocent expectation delights me, this thought of a rainbow perpetually around the corner.

Josh acknowledged her memory, then confirmed Ben's explanation that, indeed, rainbows only appear after the rain. We continued our drive home, catching sight of a large buck as our car swayed familiarly through the valley. The magic doesn't end with vacation, I thought with gratitude.

Today, as expected, was full with nursery responsibilities, meetings, grocery shopping, unpacking, laundry, cooking, e-mails, phone calls to contractors, and all the other things we gladly avoided in Mexico. But I'm content--happy, even--to be sitting here on our couch, to be watching Kashmir snooze comfortably on our freshly-folded laundry, and to be writing to you from the land of Rocky Mountain rainbows.