die Fabrik

I’m home (since Monday– but I’m so behind on everything) and I brought chocolate for everyone.

I snuck away to Germany for a week with Erik, my dad and my brother to an international bakery equipment show. The show awed us with hall after hall of enormous ovens and mixers and freezers and indulged us with samples of bread, pastries and gelato. And as if the equivalent of visiting 50 bread factories wasn’t enough, in our free time we drove to the Ritter Sport and Porsche factories where we bought a ridiculous amount of chocolate and just stared at the Porsches longingly.

It’s a strange thing to visit Europe twice in one year. It starts to feel normal. I converted Euros without even thinking and became a bit more confident in my rusty German.

And to come home! The sky is bluer and larger, stretching from the mountains by my home to the Great Salt Lake out west. My children are impossibly charming with witty jokes and long sweet hugs and my work feels necessary and inspiring. I was chafed red and raw, but in my time away I’ve grown a fresh, resilient layer.

We left Ben as 1st in command and Stefan 2nd, with neighbors and my in-laws filling in the holes. It felt bold (and a bit crazy) but they were so kind, incredibly good to each other. The little ones had baths and stories and bouts of Candyland every night. Ben cooked meals and drove kids to practices while Stefan supervised homework and light saber wars. My drawers and pantry received a much needed cleaning from Ben and Xander made lunches for little Gabe.

I had so many years of diapers and 16 hour crying jags and temper tantrums and mornings where I dreaded getting out of bed because I couldn’t mother these children– it was an impossible task. And now, they’ve nurtured me when I needed it most.

They’re back to kid-mode again, “Drive me here.” “What’s for dinner?” “That’s not my job.” but it’s thrilling to know what they are capable of.

Which makes me think I may leave again….the next show is in just three years. And maybe my brother can pick up that Porsche he’s dreaming about; I’ll stick with chocolate.