Or maybe I'm just picky. Or fickle. Or anxious. I'm not sure, but I do know that I am suddenly very uneasy about going back to Georgia for a visit.
The kids are doing great here. They really are enjoying themselves, and they have goals for the days and weeks here. They are looking forward to school. They have their SS funny-dress days marked on the calendar. This Sunday is dress-in-bright-colors-for-Pastor-Andrew's-birthday day. They've been talking about what they want to wear.
Tony and I are settling in to life here. Tony really enjoys his job, and I enjoy his satisfaction in his work. I enjoy church, and the kick that it is each week. I'm getting excited about the kids' school and finding a place to fit in there. I love all the new food and the adventure that trying new recipes is.
In short, Panama is becoming our home. It is home for the kids. Tony and I are a little slower to completely adjust, but we no longer wake up and brace for the day. The pep talk to get out of bed is gone. The struggle to survive has slowly been replaced with living.
And now I'm afraid again. I'm afraid that the kids are going to unadjust to Panama. I'm afraid that they won't want to come back to their new home after visiting their old home. I'm afraid that knowing the hurt of leaving- which they couldn't imagine the first time- will make them resistant to return.
And I'm afraid it will fit again. I'm concerned that it will still feel like home. It shouldn't feel like we're home. We've been gone too long. We've lived too much. If we fit right back where we were, we haven't done what we needed to do here. We haven't learn what we could have. It's been almost 4 months. About 32 more to go. Georgia needs to become a comfortable place to visit. But it has to stop being home.
Panama is our home.