It’s All Relative: Mom and Dad’s Visit.

There are two ways this kind of thing can go. Either it’s going to save my tucchus, or it’s going to wreck me.

I’ve spent the last two weekends with my parents. Which is awesome. I love hanging out with my parents, something that I often take for granted and sometimes forget completely when I’m living in their house between adventures.

The fact that they’re willing to put up (and put up with) their twenty something daughter for months rather than weeks between international adventures already proves that they’re a pretty special pair of people.

It’s generally accepted wisdom that people by and large love their parents, and that their parents love them. But there’s a big difference between loving someone and wanting to hang out with them all the time, most of the time, or ever.

I like hanging out with my parents. Half the time, I wish I had friends this cool. There are only a handful of people I know, the world over, who would be okay with going into a restaurant in a strange country where nobody really speaks the language, and basically picking something at random off the menu.

Two of those handful are my mom and dad. That’s how we ate several of our meals during their visit. That’s fucking ace.

…Er, I mean freaking. Right. Freaking. My mom does read this, after all.

Hanging out with my parents was awesome. It reminded me of home, it reminded me of what I miss when I’m away. Which, lately, has been most of the time. I’m not sure how the next little while will go. Either this will be just the push I need to get into my groove, or it’ll be the thing that makes me want to pack up and go home.


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