Coming home from vacation is like giving birth: you forget how grueling it was once you’re home.
Now that I’m safely tucked into my own bed, I can look back on the experience fondly. Suddenly, the fact that my hair was one big frizz ball because of the Florida humidity and my straightener quite literally cracked in half trying to plow its way through the underbrush that is my afro doesn’t matter anymore.
The unexpected downpours while we were being marched from one major attraction to the next by the drill sergeant don’t seem so inconvenient when I’m sitting indoors. Dry.
Disney doesn’t seem so despicable…
Oh puleeze! Who am I kidding – doing Disney with my kids was like being part of a chain gang.
And despite the hour-long drive from Orlando to Daytona Beach, when the kids were fighting with each other because there was no DVD player in the rental van to occupy them, when Wayne was pissy because he was tired from the neck-breaking schedule he was commandeering, when I was plotting my revenge on all of mankind for inventing the concept of the family vacation in the first place, thankfully, while sitting in my own bedroom with my dogs nestled next to me, the familiar hum of my ceiling fan, a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I am now able to remember how I felt sitting on that beach while my kids and husband were swimming in the ocean. Far. Away. From. Me.
I felt like I was on vacation.
For the first time since our departure from Winnipeg, while I was stretched out on that glorious white sand, with everyone far far away from me…have I mentioned that I was alone?…well, during that hour –and yes, it was only one hour, because according to the commandant we still had to make it to Cocoa Beach, Cape Canaveral, supper, and back to the resort in time for night swimming – I was having several thoughts. Thoughts completely unrelated to the needs of my children. Thoughts like:
- I love reading Oxygen magazine. I’m so glad I’ve been saving them up all summer for this occasion
- These girls in the Oxygen magazines have no cellulite on their butts
- I have cellulite on my butt and I must do 1000 squats a week
- How much photoshopping goes on before Oxygen goes to print
- I’m hungry…but I don’t want to eat these M&Ms because they’ll contribute to the cellulite on my butt
- Bringing Oxygen magazine to the beach was a stupid idea
- I have to pee…where’s the bathroom?
- I could pee in the ocean…
But before I could indulge in any other thoughts, Wayne came sloshing out of the ocean announcing that it was time for the next round of fun, “Regulators, saddle up!”
No. He didn’t actually say that. Out of nowhere I just remembered Emilio Estevez when he played Billy the Kid in the movie Young Guns. I love that movie. That’s when I first fell in love with Kieffer Sutherland. I also crushed on Andrew McCarthy after I watched the movie Pretty in Pink…
…Wow. Look at me having more thoughts unrelated to the comfort of others.
Hello random, unproductive, decadent thoughts. I’m ho-o-me!