Whenever I travel it takes me a while to settle back in to my daily rhythms and routines upon my return home, even if I’ve been gone only a short time. Lydia’s and my recent trip to Stockholm took us away from home for scarcely more than seventy-two hours, but that was enough to leave me still feeling a bit unsorted though we’ve been home now for nearly twice as long as we were away in the first place. I am a homebody at heart, and even small deviations from my natural course can put me in something of a tailspin.

That said, the trip itself was a good one. We got to spend a good amount of quality time with my friend Leslie and her son Alex, and the days had the feeling of the countless days the four of us spent together before we bought our house and moved up here to the end of the earth. (N.B. I say “the end of the earth” with nothing but affection and appreciation; I am a small-town girl and I doubt I could be persuaded to live in Stockholm again.)

While we did spend most of our time there just hanging out and relaxing, we did make it out to an “English-speaking Women and Kids” get-together on Saturday afternoon, where we met up with a number of ex-pats in Sweden whom I have known online for, in some cases, as long as five years. It was great to put faces to names, finally, and to be able to engage in real, live conversations with the other women there (and our hostess had the most divine South African accent that I think I could never tire of hearing). Unfortunately, the short attention spans of our kids had Leslie and me taking our leave after only a few hours, but they were a fun few hours that the group of us decided to repeat on a yearly basis, as a minimum.

On Monday Leslie, Alex, Lydia, and I ventured in to the city for a Pizza Hut lunch with another friend of ours, Heather, then we headed to Gallerian (a big shopping mall) where the kids made short work of spending the money that had been burning holes in their pockets. Lydia came away with a My Scene doll (her ninth, I think), and three new pairs of earrings. While she lingered in the doll aisles, I picked up a toy car for the still easy-to-please Tage and offered up a prayer for the simple tastes of little boys.

I like Stockholm, I do, but every time I go there I can’t help thanking my lucky stars for our calm, quiet, small-town life. The city stresses me out and during each of my trips poor Olof is on the receiving end of at least one heated cell-phone call in which I swear colorfully and make extravagant claims about how much I hate the damned place. If I hadn’t spent a year-and-a-half living there and learning my way around, I think visiting without a tour guide would completely do me in.