The door to our balcony is locked from the outside because the exterior of our building is being renovated. And while I’ve been a little peeved to be missing out on the gorgeous views that prompted us to buy our condo, today I didn’t mind being confined. The blue hue cast into our living space reflected how I’ve been feeling the past few days, here by my lonesome.

I’m pooped. As I told John the other day, I don’t have words to explain how even my knuckles are tired.

We’re 8 weeks into our nomadic experiment, and it’s as I expected: exhilarating and exhausting.

In that time we’ve accrued airline miles and/or hotel points in Barcelona, Girona, Marbella (twice), Marrakech, Paris, Loire Valley, London (more than twice), Napa Valley, Phoenix, and Miami. And in that time we’ve gotten to squeeze all 3 of our kiddos and a bunch of our bestest friends, which has made every stop worth every second.

We’ve also learned our need for improved packing skills for extended excursions in multiple climates.

I woke up this morning to John calling me with the recap of his weekend in London with Holly. I know how much they wished I’d been there; they FaceTimed me, at length, twice yesterday to keep keep me close and relay every moment. I felt how much they wished I was with them. And, yeah, it would’ve been great to be there. But in the end I’m happy that I wasn’t. Those two made core memories that wouldn’t be the same if Mom had been present as usual.

And, I realize, I needed the break. Getting on a plane every few days is exciting. I’m ever grateful for the privilege to be able to do so. But it’s demanding on this gal’s body and soul.

Maybe this weekend wasn’t my favorite, maybe I felt a little lonely, maybe I felt a little blue. But it was just what I needed.

Plus, these knuckles need to limber up. They’ve got to get ready to pack for what’s coming next.