Vacation has a certain kind of magic that even when it’s epically bad, you can always laugh and call it the Griswald’s Summer Vacation and suddenly it’s a story. More often than not though, it’s epically awesome. Even better when you win the double bonus of sleeping in AND afternoon naps in an actual bed on the beach with your husband. These things exist. Not in the real world, but in vacation wonderland.
Don’t mind me folks, just laying here in a bed relaxing while waves crash ten feet away and lull me to sleep.
But then you hit the ground in Detroit after what can only be described as a forty-five minute ‘holding’ pattern in which you are both holding your bladder so you don’t pee your pants AND holding your husband’s arm. Oh, not because you’ve fallen asleep in some loving beach nap embrace but because you think that you could actually fall out of the sky due to turbulence so disturbing you might now truly pee your pants if it weren’t for the concentrating on holding down your vomit thing.
And twenty-four seconds after landing and turning on his phone, that husband of yours is flooded with “STUFF BLEW UP, HAVE YOU LANDED? VACATION IS OVER! CAN YOU CALL US, LIKE NOW?” emails from work. It kind of felt like a Howler had arrived from Mrs Weasley, just hearing the ding ding ding of the emails arriving had me wishing he wouldn’t open them.
Also, all of you need to order this. SkyMall says so, and I do too. You are welcome.
You then get to walk 8 miles down a long hallway and the prize is a mostly clean bathroom. Congrats, you’ve just won the bladder holding Olympics! Collect your passport and WELCOME HOME. You’re sucked right back to reality before you’re even through explaining to US Customs agents that bottle of pomegranate tequila is for your sister who tirelessly took care of your kids for five days and you bought it because yes, you were drunk at the pool and the devils at the hotel promised to send it bubble wrapped to your room, but also because you know she needs a drink more than anyone right now. It’s like you don’t even realize that you’re going to be the one wanting a tequila shot mid-day tomorrow and that maybe you should hold on to that bottle.
Plus, you come home so relaxed and happy and ready to see your kids that you kind of forget that there will be a next day. A day filled with wishing the two year old will still hold on to your finger all day so you don’t EVER leave her again and snuggles and I missed you Mama’s from your six year old who’s other front tooth miraculously appeared making you feel like you’ve been gone more than five days of his life. But that doesn’t happen, instead you get a few of those things because they’re still slightly excited from the night before that you’re home… Forty-four minutes later, it’s back to mob-rule where you are wholly outnumbered because your afternoon nap and hotel sex buddy has left you for fixing those things the emails were shouting about.
Don’t worry, he’s having zero fun too.
These little punks will want YOU to cook THEM breakfast and you’ll try to call room service but quickly realize the days of Belgian waffles and fresh orange juice on your sunny deck are long gone. It’s then that you remember that all of those cute clothes and fun items you carefully tucked into your suitcase a week ago are now crammed in at odd angles and smell like airport and disappointment. They need to by laundered as soon as humanly possible. Only, you are the one that has to do it so you pretend that it doesn’t have to be done as soon as possible… or ever if you burn them in a bonfire in the backyard to keep warm from the FRIGID temperatures you’ve managed to come home to.
So, there’s that. How was your week?