Jul 27, 2011

Home to Real Life

What I hate about returning from vacation is that I have to return to the person I was before I left. That responsible and surly person that kind of irritates me. The one that has to re-enter real life and make difficult decisions like should I shower today? Should I shave my legs today? I know, I know. I spent 7 days on a beach but I didn't care much whether I showered or shaved. Should I put on make-up to cover up that I haven't showered? Should I put on make-up if I do shower? My six year old told me I should shower because it's nice to be clean. I asked him if I smelled bad. He just reiterated that it's good to be clean and smell clean, too.

I get that you have to do damage control after a vacation. The lawn needed to be mowed. Dead spots needed water. Holes the dog dug needed dirt. When I say damage control, I mean I let SCOTT take care of all that. Of course, the pretty pot of pink petunias being dead was a bummer, I'll admit and I am actively working on and believing in the resurrection.

I spent a couple of hours unpacking and doing laundry. I went through the mail. Listened to the telephone messages. Okay, I lied about the messages. Again, I let Scott have that one, too because I'm so generous. By the way, Utah tax commission received our tax check but wanted to know where our return is.  Gee, I thought we paid the accountant so we wouldn't have to worry about this kind of stuff. Silly me. Still, I planned on easing into real life. Too bad for me, the fates looked at me and said, "Uh-uh. Too relaxed. Too happy. She laughed too much past couple of days."

Another cruel reality was the delivery of our new bed bright and early on a Saturday morning. Who delivers a bed on a Saturday? And why so early? So Scott did the husbandly duty of waking me out of a dead sleep to inform me he needed to move the old bed out. Hello? Has he not met me? I am not. An early. Morning. Riser. Could he tell the Spring Air guys this? No. He has to wake me up at 10:00 A.M. and kick me out of bed! I know. For rude. I did buy an extra 7 minutes by rolling over in fetal position and claim I was saying my morning prayers. Which I did for all of 60 seconds I could muster and hoped Heavenly Father knew my heart was pure(ish).

The bed incident deserves at least two paragraphs. When I finally rolled out bed and blindly wandered somewhere in the house, Scott heaved and ho-ed that 200 lb. mattress up on end where it promptly collapsed like playdough. Then it was the onerous task of cleaning 10 years worth of crap under the bed. Dust bunnies aside (and they were plentiful and breeding well), Samantha's Sunday shoes showed up in a pair under there. Her cute little Mary Jane's from when she was 2 years old. Now she's 13. Also, the dryer is off the hook. We found 5 socks without matches and one pair. We also discovered where all of the missing pacifiers had gone. Even more useful, my Eurorail Pass with my awesomely nineties hair-don't, my student i.d. for hostels, and my student i.d. for BYU. Also included in the mix was a London Tube map on a coffee mug. Because I drink coffee every day. Kind of like how I went to summer school during elementary school and made 8 ashtrays for my dad who has never even picked up a cigarette in his life. Made with love if not common sense.

Between doing laundry and cleaning under the bed, I easily grossed $8.54. Without knowing the exchange rate I can only say that I also turned up German Marks, Swiss and French Francs, Spanish Pesetas, a few guilders, and English Pounds. I had no Austrian schillings as we had to pool our money to pull our suitcases out of storage. It was 12:03 a.m. so they charged us for another day. I also found a set of Russian nesting dolls. I have never been to Russia. Odd.

Neurotic Nancy is back, although not yet in full force. I joined the war in my gardens and won a couple of battles when I unearthed the pumpkins which are taking over most of the garden, cleared out the cucumbers and picked a zuke. The war is not over but I have seen some tomatoes and, with an Indian summer, I might get cantaloupe, beans, and carrots. The spaghetti squash lost. I wish I could play Taps on my daughter's trumpet.

I have a mortgage.
My American Express bill arrived.
I paid my Kohl's card.
I'm out of flour.
The dentist expects us this week.
My oldest needs new glasses.
My youngest peed his pants at church on Sunday.

But I can still remember my happy place since it was only a few days ago.
If I'm smiling at nothing in particular and not paying attention, it's because I've gone on a mini-vacation inside my head.


 Like last year, I just feel the need to point out that this is not my son and I won't point out who he belongs to outright (Jene's) but his mother really should look into a proper fitting swimming suit as this is the second year in a row he flashed his cute little bum crack to everybody.

3 comments:

CountessLaurie said...

Welcome back. I don't even want to think about what's under my bed.

Oh, and the NERVE! Waking you up at 10. I'd clocked him. With the clock...

:-)

Are you tan???

angie said...

Welcome back. I feel the same way...so much to do. So little time.

M-Cat said...

Whoa whoa whoa - back up a sec.....I can curl up in the fetal position to say my prayers? REALLY?!?!

Yessssss......... life just became that much easier!