After my friend’s second baby was born, she told me about how she got both kids in their car seats, a trunk loaded with suitcases, her husband in the driver seat and she suddenly started crying.
“When will the be fun?” she sobbed.
I’m currently writing this from vacation. And I feel her. It’s so hard to vacation with two little people. There is so much stuff to remember, so much back and forth. So many tears from being thrown off routine; of feeling off-balanced.
It’s fraught but it’s also wonderful. It’s wonderful to wake up with my children and know we have the whole day together (I feel that way as long as I haven’t drank too much the night before). To just have them close. To not have to rush out the door.
My 4-year-old is happy there’s junk food at this house.
I’m pretty sure he’ll be talking about the UTZ barrel of cheese balls someone brought to the rental house FOREVER.
It’s not that Sam doesn’t eat junk food. He does. But the magic of different junk food is so amazing. Even for me.
On Tuesday, a friend texted me: “I’m jealous you are on vacation.”
After a fraught night with the baby, I texted back: “The only thing you should be jealous of is the fact I’m letting myself eat potato chips.”
In between eating potato chips, I did allow myself some time to read. I read two of the Elena Ferrente novels, “My Brilliant Friend” and “The Story of a New Name.” It was luxurious. Not relaxing. But somehow luxurious all the same.
And sometimes that is all one can hope for.