Apparently vacations are where you go to die. I am tired, very tired, after spending almost a month organizing, packing, and mentally preparing myself for going away from my home for most of a week. Now, at my destination, I am surrounded by well-meaning, yet somewhat unfamiliar, extended relatives, relatives who leave my children confused and feeling uneasy, despite my repeated reminders that we are related to them, that they are good people. But at 18 months, a stranger is still a stranger. I wish my sister-in-law was not seen as a stranger.
Away from home, every door in our living space is at the mercy of B1's game of open and close, open and close, open and, hopefully, not close on anyone's fingers. There have been no reported damages (as of yet). Get back to me tomorrow to see if our lucky streak continues.
There is no escape from the constant barrage of questions, tears, and request that come along with a life spent side by side small children. They are beautiful; they are terrible. So, in the face of this terrible idea, may we survive the first day after departure, may we find something good and substantial in spending time away.
May the befits of the destination outweigh the difficulty of the arrival.