I'm heading home today, but not without hesitancy. There's a rationally-inclined part of my mind that is doing a happy dance at the thought of going home. Going home to my Archer and warm, sunny days. But in this moment, sitting here at the gate in the airport typing away at my little tablet, I'm not happy. My little Bear - my son - is staying in Iowa with my mom for two more weeks, then heading to his Dad's house for five weeks. He cried last night when we talked about going to the airport the next morning. He wanted to come to the airport with me, and I let him. He cried when Grandma led him back to the car as I got in line for security. It was a sincerely sad cry, and it tore me in two. I wanted to bring him with me, like he asked, but I bowed to plans made months ago - made poorly, in hindsight - and said I'd see him soon. And I hugged him wholeheartedly, giving him as much of my love to carry with him as he could fit in his enormous little heart.