Just, before I forget, that MG was awful, awful, awful in the morning yesterday (to me, only, not to any other family members) and sort of awful at bedtime--jumpy and silly and borderline-obnoxious--until all of a sudden she stopped being obnoxious and broke down and cried about her uncle being dead, and that she wished he was alive again, and that she would miss him so much. I put it down to about three parts genuine grief and one part sleep-deprived exhaustion. We talked about all the love her uncle left behind him, and RW reminded her of the tombstone we saw that afternoon that was for someone who died on the day MG was born, and about how there's a baby out there somewhere who was born on the day her great-uncle died. That seemed to help some.
But just before that, when she was flomping around and resisting bedtime, she said, "I hate bed! I wish I didn't have to be in this bed! I wish we could go home! To Vancouver!"
Always before, when she's complained that she wants to go home, it's been definitely home to Seattle. I was not foolish enough to remark on this milestone, but I noticed.
Sometimes you have to be someplace else before you know where your home is, I guess.