Monday, August 10, 2009

Home Again

Open Letter to...

ok, honestly people? I know it's Tuesday, or nearly so, but I got nothin'. Can we please just pretend I had something witty to say today? (If it helps, you can pretend precisely that every day I post, of course!)

Frankly, I'm just barely coherent. We got home from our three week vacation sometime in the middle of last night (and even so, I felt the compulsion to put things away...clearly something vital is wrong with me). And then, the cat (feel free to add "from hell" every time I refer to him, ok?)...the cat (chorus: from hell) decided to meow from about three am to five am. Charlie thinks he missed us. I think he was mourning our return. And then, just as I was drifting off to sleep again (and I can only guess I was sleeping because I seemed to be dreaming about cat fur coats on the truly terrifying mascot from Six Flags where we had just spent our last travel day), Toby woke up promptly at six am.

Which is good, in hindsight, because that Mr. Six dream was certainly not going to be getting any better.

So forgive me for this pathetic excuse for a post, while I wallow in post-trip disorientation. Surely you're familiar with this side effect of travel? Just before the end of a long vacation, your brain, with no encouragement whatsoever, begins to analyse all the things you need to do once you're back home in the 'real world'. Like finally calling back about two dozen people, and buying groceries, and getting to two meetings on the same night (probably the night you return), and sending in the soccer registration, and murdering the cat (from hell), and paying the bills, know the feeling. It always hits me approximately five hours before my arrival on my doorstep, and is usually accompanied by equally distressing plans of grandour. On top of the above list go things like, clean out the garage, remodel the house, get a new job, become a better person...

Just me then?

But the good news is, in our absence, the boys' vegetable garden grew like Jack's Beanstalk on steroids.


It's like we came home to The Secret Garden...or maybe I just now resemble Rip Van Winkle.
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