Don’t You Have a Home?

Kids say the darnedest things.

While Adam and I are wrapping up our travels here in the North, I’m desperately trying to sort through all the different stories I want to tell about our adventures. The fact that I’ve been enjoying myself too much to bother blogging is, well, fantastic. But it sure does leave me in a pickle. I’m bad enough with tenses to begin with – nevermind throwing in how you’re supposed to speak in the present about an event that happened in the past which made me reflect on the future.

I mean, yikes.

So I’ll start at the end with a little story about our stay in Bergen, Norway. I’ll start with the amazing little (haha) house that we’ve rented a room in and our host’s fantastic family of four boys.

On our first day here I was thinking how awesome it would be to live in a house where you rent out rooms to travelers. How many different languages you will hear over time.

On the second day, as the youngest boy is quickly tying his tennis shoes to go out and skateboard with his brothers he looks up at Adam as he’s walking into the back door.

“Are you Daddy’s friend?”

Adam laughs and explains that we are staying here for a few days.

After the littlest one checks in with his dad “Is this your friend, Daddy?” it seems to all check out and he’s content to accept that we are, in fact, staying at his house.

By day three, however, the old saying about house guests comes true.

Adam walks up the three flights of stairs to make some coffee and the littlest one turns away from his morning cartoons to ask, quite earnestly:

“Don’t you have a home?”

Indeed.

How fitting that this is our last day in Bergen and tomorrow, bright and early, we will be going home.