OK, that’s not quite true. I love vacation. I love the change of scenery and the beach or the mountains or the ability to read books and relax. I love spending time with my family and trying new restaurants and doing different things. But man, do I love to get home.
We went to the beach last week and had a great time. The weather completely cooperated and it wasn’t too crowded. We saw dolphins and manatees and rode boogie boards and built sandcastles. We read books and ate yummy food and had tequila well before 5. And we all got to spend lots of quality time together.
But it was exhausting. The packing and the organizing and the shopping and the driving. The refereeing and the ability to function outside of our normal routine is where things sort of fell apart. Courtney and Patrick both were GO GO GO all day. We spent loads of time outside, in the sun, playing in the ocean or the pool, eating all the crap and generally not doing our normal things. And boy oh boy, did it show. Not only was Courtney awake at night and not sleeping but she was up insanely early. And since she was sharing a room with her brother, he too was up insanely early. There was a lot of tears and a lot of arguing and quite a bit of ultimatum-ing. And some of that wasn’t so fun. OK, all of that kind of sucked.
It makes me nervous for the next trip. The kids and I are heading out for 2 weeks. Is every night going to be a battle? I hope not. I REALLY hope not. I won’t make it. Or some small human won’t make it.
Do vacations get easier? Do small people become medium people and things are less of a battle? Please?