I hate making weekend trips home.
Let me clarify. I love going home. I love visiting everyone, and spending time with family, and being in a place that holds my entire childhood within a thirty-mile radius.
I hate that there never seems to be enough time. Going home for a weekend means leaving after Patrick gets home from work on Friday night, and arriving after Miles' bedtime. It means spending a day and a half seeing everyone we know. My mother. My father and grandfather. My sister. Patrick's parents and sisters. Patrick's grandmother, who is sweet enough to give us crash space every time we visit. Needless to say, there's just not enough time to spend quality time with everyone.
And this weekend, we went home for their Renaissance Festival, accompanied by Bethany and Shelby and Stacey. Which meant that most of Saturday was reserved for that. I ended up getting to spend time with my mother, but only because I wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to be a downer at the Festival. But I never got to see my dad, my grandpa, or my sister. Which stinks. And I got to see my in-laws, but only very briefly, since they were all busy running the Festival.
Add in the fact that I spent the weekend battling a sinus infection (which was diagnosed yesterday), and that Miles was uber-clingy and whiny for much of the weekend, and it became a less-than-ideal weekend.
I miss everyone so much, and I just wish there was a way to spend as much time as I want with each of them. But, for now, I have to get as much as possible out of these whirlwind weekends.