My love letter to them*

*I've been reading so many of your beautiful blogs about how in love with your children you are, and I could never fully imagine what that might be like until a few days ago...

Mamo and Tato came to visit me in London a few days ago. They arrived on Sunday morning and left on Wednesday afternoon. It was like medicine. I got plenty of hugs and kisses, plenty of dinners out with the whole family here, and plenty of time to look at their beautiful faces and marvel at how cool they are sometimes.

Mamo and Tato are like chalk and cheese sometimes. Tato is a cuddly man who reminds me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones. Tall, salt and pepper hair, and dresses like a guy who lives on a sailboat 24/7. He has a fantastic sense of humour, and loves going out and playing host to people. He can talk your ear off about pretty much any subject, loves parties, and loves filthy jokes. He can also have a horrific temper, but I've only seen it a few times (mostly when as a child, I pissed him off to the point of utter ridiculousness). But he has always been quick with a loving word and fierce hug, no matter what, and he likes nothing better than just being with Mamo and relaxing with a good book on a boat.

Mamo is a diminutive, sharply Scandinavian-looking woman with a runner's body, very muscular. Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and dresses like a horsey-woman (which she is): dark jeans, button-down shirts, good leather boots. She is fiercely independent. She was the one who spanked me when I was out of line, she was the disciplinarian. The one I always had to work hard for, the one who always wanted to see the best out of me. She threw me into sports, she made me challenge myself. She wasn't always quick with the hugs, she was more of a "pick yourself up and do it again" kind of person. She was always honest with me, no matter how much I didn't want to hear it. But the few times that I've briefly seen the silly, giggly side of her that sends me letters with stickers, it absolutely yanks at my heartstrings.

They seem like opposites in so many ways. Yet I can't imagine two people more perfect for each other and more in love. They've been married for 36 years.

These are the people who have molded me, who have shaped me into the person that I am. I have my mother's exact speaking voice, but I have my father's tall, boyish build. I have my mother's impatience, controlling nature and insecurities, but I have my father's naughty humour and romantic side. I have Tato's dark hair and eyes, but Mamo's face structure. I exist only because these two people met quite randomly, decided to get married 2 months later, and then decided to have me a few years after that. That's the only reason I get to be on this planet. That's mind blowing.

Please don't go, don't ever go, I thought to myself as the car pulled away to take them to the airport. I waved them off, smiling, but I was slowly realising that my 30-something years on this planet have gone by much too quickly. I can't understand how that happens. I feel like after 3 days in the UK, they were only here for 3 minutes.

I think there's a "click" that happens in your thirties, when you stop thinking of your parents as these immortal, omniscient creatures, and start realising that they're just these two people that tried their best to help you out. Two people, a couple, with a life that has an end point, just like you and I (depending what religion you believe). And thinking about them like that makes me realise how much I've always needed them, how much I've always looked for their advice and their hugs and their kisses. I've been lucky every single day of my life. I hope I tell them that enough.

We tend to say "oh, I hope I'll never be like my parents...", and I will still have moments of saying that. But sometimes I can't stand that they're getting older, because, selfishly, I'll always want them around and hanging out with me and the mister when we're 60. It seems like yesterday I remember Mamo being 44, and in the blink of an eye, we're celebrating an age where they should be grandparents soon.

I guess what I'm saying is that no matter how tough I pretend to be, and no matter how much I tell myself to not pay attention to it, I miss them so much sometimes it's a physical pain in my heart. It's indulgently sweet and acidic at the same time. It's as if a tiny part of me doesn't live in this country, it lives with them. I still feel like their little girl, their baby. And I know I'll always feel like that.

Seconds before they jumped in the taxi, Tato grabbed me in a tight hug, held me back from him to look at my face, and then pulled me tight again, saying "oh, my sweet girl, sometimes all I need is a hug."

I know. Me too.

I love you.

Do you ever have days where you...

Burst with love? Like it's coming out of your ears and you might as well just wear a sign on your back?

I know I sound sappy, but I can't help it. Mamo and Tato raised me in this really touchy-feely environment. They were always encouraging me to be creative, to think out loud, to laugh and to love strongly. Mamo is a tough one, but Tato showered me with kisses and hugs all the time. To the point of saturation, really. Always with an "I love you" before bed, before a flight, etc.

The mister came home last night from a 3 day business trip, and I was so happy to see him I was almost numb. I always steel myself for when he goes away, because it happens a lot, and I get a bit lonely sometimes. So I was deep into doing my own thing when he came back, and it took me a bit to adjust. But then I allowed myself to feel vulnerable, and I crawled into my nook (the space between his head and shoulder) in bed, and smelled his skin, his t-shirt, his hair.. it all smelled like home. I was giggling, it made me drunk with happiness. He kind of laughed and said "I've only been gone for 3 days, silly" (it's his way of telling me to stop being so clingy), and though technically that's true, we've been working so hard that we haven't had a proper cuddle for what feels like two weeks.

I think sometimes it would be nice if he were always as mushy as I am, to reciprocate every kiss and cuddle and adoring look, but he's not that kind of person. I think he feels a bit claustrophobic when I say " I need you, I need you, I missed you...". But all of our partners are people that are meant to be ours for a variety of reasons, and never obvious ones. Our witness to our lives, our best friend, our confidante, the person that looks over at us in the morning and would be happy just to lie next to us and hold our hand. We all feel the same in our hearts, but we all express it differently.

I am a hopeless romantic, a person that loves kisses, hugs, and hand-holding. I am a person that needs a mushy word at the end of a stressful day to help me smile. And I love with my whole entire being. I will never apologise for it, because that's just me. And today, I am positively bursting with love. Love for today because it's sunny. Love for a blessed life. Love for the fact that I am in my 30s and I act like I'm 5. Love for my family. And most of all, for being so in love with my wonderful husband that I want to shout it from the rooftops and kiss his face a million times.

Should I tell him that? Nah, I'll just relish the glow.

Sunny days and random musings

It's a really sunny day today, and I managed to break free from the prison of my office (not really that bad, but I get so busy I tend to forget to even pee) and take a walk in the park with a friend from work. She and I talked about life, love, politics, weather, work. It was a lovely conversation, and much needed.

Slowly, I've been making friends here in London. Right now I have a lovely girl at work who's really down to earth and very genuine, and just a great buddy. I've never had girlfriends, so she's a nice change from the usual list of men that I've known through the years (men are just easier to be friends with). She's not a backstabber, no agenda, and I feel totally myself with her.

I also have a girl that I met in New York, who's a Brit, and she lives in Notting Hill, so last night I saw her for a glass of wine and snacks at her place/studio. She's a photographer, and how I met her was that I wanted to do a series of black and white nude photos of myself last year, and she's extremely talented at what she does, so she'll do them for me at some point this year. So that's how we met and got to chatting, and she's another really lovely girl, very funny and very cool. Why the sudden burst of exhibitionism you ask? Well, though I am getting older and I do have a few scars, I'm proud of the strong, beautiful body I have. I'd like to get them done before we have kids at some point in the near future. It would just be a nice little splurge for me, a present to myself after quitting smoking cold turkey and not even taking a drag of a cigarette for 6 months. The mister would probably like it as well, which is a nice bonus.

Anyway, life is rather good. I love my new job (though the hours are long), I'm healthy, and I feel like I'm settling down and not having to impress people all the time.

It feels good to be content. And to like myself. And, yeah, feel a bit sexy. *blush*