Homecoming

I just returned home from a glorious vacation. I saw friends and family. I lounged underneath swaying palm trees and relished the awe of a post-rain shower rainbow. I drank a glass (or two) of cold white wine in the afternoon just because. I spent time at the tranquility pool (a.k.a. the adults only pool). I got a healthy dose of Vitamin D. I laughed with my kids until I cried. I ate bacon at the breakfast buffet. I read three books. Three.

No one wanted to come home, and that declaration was made hours before we settled into the windowless last row of the airplane in seats that didn’t recline and were next to the bathroom. (Thanks, Delta!) Those seats should come with a complimentary therapy session. We didn’t know if it was day or night. The man seated in 29A next to my husband had to switch seats with his tween daughter in 28D because he was having a panic attack and at least row 28 had a window with a view of the engine. (Thanks again, Delta!) The fresh air I breathed when I stepped onto the gateway at Newark International Airport gave me a second chance at life.

The sign of a good vacation is wanting it to last forever. That said, it was nice to come home to Charmin Ultra-Soft toilet paper and my own bed. After a night of sleep, however, the rose colored-glasses through which I saw our homecoming after a week away morphed into beer goggles.

Unpacking. How many marriages dissolve over whose job it is to put away the suitcases? Asking for a friend.

Laundry. What in the fresh hell? I’m on my third load and we’ve been home for 12 hours.

Laundry. I hate myself for being such a cliché.

Laundry. #icanteven

Food. Why am I in charge of feeding these people? Why?!

Children. If I didn’t step on a half dozen Cheerios and trip over at least two pairs of dirty socks every morning, I would wonder if I were dead.

Mail. Can it be held permanently?

At least the kids will go to school tomorrow. Ugh…

School lunches. How many weeks until summer vacation?