Vacation was all kinds of fabulousness, complete with mini-family reunions and bittersweet nostalgia, as well as speed-boat joy rides and lazy cocktails by the pool. So really, perfection.
And that makes getting back into the swing of things so unappealing. Truth be told, I did have brief moments on our last two days of vacation, after staying in others' homes for so long, of a frenetic need to go home and clean & organize my own home. Some sort of primal nesting need to be in my own space, with my own things and to make them seem all shiny and new.
That lasted until about the 2nd day of being home, after cleaning the living room, kitchen & bathrooms top to bottom (which I'd done before I left, too. So....weird). I also starting clearing out the "office" room, which in theory is for Husband's at-home work & my writing, but in the ten months we've lived in the house, no at-home work OR writing has been done in there. Technically there are two desks in the room, but until the other day, you'd have been hard-pressed to find them under everything else. On Tuesday I tore my "side" of the room apart and reassembled it into a cozy little writer's nook. This simply means that I moved all the crap to Husband's side of the room because at this point, he and I both know his at-home work gets done on the couch in the living room. I'll get to clearing that all out, too, eventually--maybe after our next vacation.
Actually, my plan for this month is to de-clutter enough that in August I can hire a cleaning lady. I have tried for years to motivate myself to be the type of neatnik that would make my mother proud, but let's face it. I'm 40. I hate cleaning. I'd rather write a story, or write in my blog, or take pictures or play with my kid or read a book. Short of a massive blow to the head that leaves me in one of those "now you have to relearn everything" states & someone makes it a priority to re-wire me to be a better housekeeper, its just not going to happen. So I'll spend this month tearing through the clutter, mercilessly tossing things (two garbage bags from my side of the office alone--hello, Hoarders!) and finding reasonable spaces for the things we need to keep. And then I'll hire someone to clean the house every other week for the rest of my life.
I would also like to hire someone to lose weight for me. Do they have those? Thankfully, and due perhaps to some weird warp in the universe or shift in the gravitational pull on earth, I didn't gain a pound on vacation. I know, I have NO clue how that happened--one night I ate an ice cream sundae that was literally bigger than my head. And the only exercise I got the entire time I was on vacation was walking the floaty raft back out into the water every time it floated back to shore on the gentle waves of the lake. Maybe I sweat it all out in the asinine heat and humidity of the east coast? I don't know, but I'm not going to question it. Regardless, there are still PLENTY of pounds to lose and they really do have to come off. I figure I need a nutritionist, a therapist, a personal chef & a trainer, so.....ohdeargod, I'm going to be fat forever.
(yes, I get that the entire last paragraph sums up my problem w/ weight loss--I think I need someone else to help me do it when all I really need to do is stop putting so much food in my face hole. But food is yummy & my face hole loves it. I'm screwed.)
Worst transition ever in 3...2...1...
Ethan had Pirate Camp this week at his school. It involved a lot of pirate-y crafts (hook-hands made out of paper cups and tin foil, decorated eye patches) and a "bloody battle" which involved swords made out of newspapers and dipped in watered-down red paint that they then "stabbed" each other with repeatedly, covering each other in "blood." Super. It really should have been called Lord of the Flies camp. But he's loved it and its over today & that means next week we have 5 entire days to fill without the benefit of any pretend violence or plank-walking. I'm starting to panic.
Which means we'll probably spend a good portion of the week at the pool. We were there for almost 4 hours yesterday and while Ethan was all sunscreened up from camp and returned home the same color as he was when he left it, I spaced it for myself and spent much of the evening slathering ice cold aloe gel all over my cooked lobster-toned face, chest and shoulders. I remember fondly the days of my childhood when a burn one day meant a glorious "healthy looking" tan the next day. At 40, a burn one day means a burn--and wrinkles--the next day. Damn it.
So far, summer vacation has been blissful & relaxing & everything I hoped it would be. I can't believe it's half over already.