I’d click my heels together three times, but frankly, I’m too darn tired.

I’m home.

I never thought I would ever be so happy to see my ramshackle house that was built by dairy hands in their spare time, but my eyes welled with tears when I finally saw the tiny brick bungalow that shelters so many things and people that I love.

In the last month, I have lit fireworks, danced, cried, sang, and have permanent bruises on my butt from endless hours riding in cars. I’ve been to two weddings and a funeral, wildfires, three family reunions, the happiest place on earth (Disneyland), the most depressing place on earth (An ICU unit), the mountains, the desert, and the oceans (White with foam!)

God Bless America, baby. It is my home sweet home.

I am worn out, frumpled and have fugly hair, but I’m happy.

If I had the energy, I would break out into “The Hallelujah Chorus”, cry, hug everyone and possibly do a cartwheel or two. As it is, I think that the best way in the world to celebrate is to get into my most comfy pair of pajamas and spend the day in the fetal position IN MY OWN BED. After going to get a Diet Coke, of course. Even the soda tastes better at home.

I love you all.

It’s so damn good to be back.