Home Again

                                The Coachella Boys (Scotty & Billy)

Monday afternoon, the Volvo unloaded two tired looking dudes who resemble the collective gene pool, but not each other.  The question heard on the grounds of Coachella:  You're brothers?!  You don't look anything alike.  Oh, but they do.  They share the same sick sense of humor, the same love of bodily noises, the same love of music, or why else would they have ventured to the desert?
And so, they dumped their overnight bags and collapsed on the sofa, happy to be home.  Three days of heat and clapping and waiting in long lines.  Three days of togetherness and sunscreen and listening to each other snore.  They gave me the highlights and spared me the details of debauchery.  I know more than I want to know without even asking, because I know my boys well.  I gave them hugs and did their laundry and drove the eldest to the airport, an activity that always makes me weepy.  And now it's back to reality for all concerned.  The eldest must get through a tough class on bugs.  The youngest must endure his senioritis.  They're both approaching the finish line, but the goals vary, accordingly.  We'll have two graduations to attend come June and rooms full of extra furniture that hubby swears will fit some-where.  An extra couch, a coffee table.  A desk and a dresser.  Good luck with that.  It will be a long summer of anticipation for one, and now-what-do-I-do for the other.  They'll figure it out, they always do, with a little parental nudging.  As a wise man named Nathan once said, "Life is life."  You can't argue with that, now, can you?