The Best Place on Earth

My son and I just returned from two glorious weeks in what is arguably the best place on earth: British Columbia. If you haven’t been there, go. Now.

Of course, there is always too little time. Too many people to see, too many favourite places to visit, and too many mountains to climb. (Oh, and too much wine to drink. How I didn’t gain 10 pounds off wine and chocolate alone is beyond me.)

Every day that we were away, my son asked for his dad (“Dada? Dada?”). But now that we are home, he is asking for my dad (“Papa? Papa?”) and his little cousin (“Ami? Ami?”).

It’s adorable but heartbreaking. How do you explain to a one-year-old that he won’t get to see “Ami” for a very long time? Of course, he will forget after a while. That's just as heartbreaking.

It’s tough to live away from family, and even more so when babies come along. There is no free babysitting from grandparents, aunts, and uncles. There are no impromptu family dinners or camping trips or playdates with cousins. Instead, we have the phone, video Skype and digital photo albums. Poor substitutes, all.

I do like where we live, but every time I go back “home” I ache with the knowledge that I don’t live there anymore.

So every day I make plans to move back. Every day I scheme and dream. The move is years away, but it will happen. Some day.

Of course, now that I am back at this home, the one where I actually live, I appreciate the friends I have here. The longer we stay, the harder it will be to move. No matter when I am, there are always people somewhere else that I miss. I guess I just need to convince them all to come with me.

So come on, everyone, let’s all head west. You won’t regret it. I promise.