At home in the mountains.

We've been home for two weeks, and it's starting to feel like we're really here. We went silent for a catalog of reasons – jet lag, a stomach virus that hit on arrival, getting back to school and work. Reality. But home is a great place for reality to hit.

The morning after the 35 hours of traveling, and the drive home from Atlanta, and Mia's first brave (lost cause) battle against the car seat, and falling into bed for hours, I woke up before light and it was cold enough to see my breath outside. I stood in our tree-filled acre that was starting to show its fall colors, with the world quiet around our house – a long way from China – and waited for the sun to come up. Later, we drove down to the hardware store for more babyproofing supplies, and as we headed down the mountain it struck me again how much I love living in Chattanooga.

It's unspeakably good to be home in the mountains, where we can find quiet, where all three of our kids can grow up playing in the yard, and where they have the political and spiritual elbow room to find out what they believe and who they are, rather than who they're told to be. From the beginning, we've said that our home has so much love, we feel like we should share it. It's good to bring Mia here, and to feel her settling into all of this.