A dab a Delaware'll do ya

For you five who have checked in occasionally to find out if I survived my Delaware vacation, thank you. Yes, indeed, I lived. Some might say barely. Despite having created several persistent life memories, I returned to my part of the world feeling listless and dejected, like someone who's beach vacation had abruptly been interrupted by news that the government was going to discontinue Saturdays. Rest assured no such thing happened. I'm positive that my overblown depression had more to do with hormone levels and moon cycles than anything. But it didn't help matters that I was confined to the toilet for three straight days and nights upon my return. Since then, I have occasionally sat at my computer and tried to tell you about so much stuff. Like how on Halloween morning, I sneaked out of the hotel bed while the family was still sleeping semi-soundly and walked to the shores of Rehoboth Beach to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean. I tried my best to articulate about how, in my solitude and the quiet morning chill, I was reduced to tears at this tempestuous earth's INSANE beauty... about how I had the entire beach to myself save for a seagull that immediately befriended me much like a toddler seeks out adult companionship at snack time. But somehow, in my listlessness, my story would evolve into woeful nonsense about my parent's divorce with an aside about how much I dislike the fakey smell of grape products. I made sense to no one except maybe my three-year-old who TOTALLY GETS how someone can start out sharing a story about something as tangible as dessert and end up examining the rhetoric behind libertarianism.

If it's possible to be overwhelmed by returning from a vacation, I was that. I know, I know. Let's all cry crocodile tears together, shall we? In my defense, I hadn't taken what one could call a TRUE vacation where you pack your bags and leave the state since that time my mom and dad decided they needed to put the family through the heady yet horrifying obligation often referred to as A Trip To Disneyland. That was '82. Every "vacation" since then has either been about work, a wedding, a funeral, a baby shower, a family reunion, a divorce, guilt, or some psychedelic combination of all seven. While this trip was actually about meeting my mother-in-law, it was REALLY about seeing where my husband fished for crabs when he was eight, where he worked when he was twelve, where a bug flew into his ear when he was old enough to be wrongfully mistaken for a trippin' juvie delinquent. There were no spas, no massages, or champagne and fresh strawberries. But, by god, I'm calling it a vacation. There was a beach. Fresh crab, Grotto's pizza, a Nic-o-boli. It was a bonus that I finally met the wonderful grandmother of my children, my very sweet sister-in-law and, by happenstance, my husband's high school best friend who recognized Allan from across a crowded restaurant by his laugh. I got to take off my shoes, roll up my pants and wade in the ocean with my naked two-year-old while a large Amish family (also wading in the surf) looked on, laughing hysterically as the oncoming waves tried their very best to make Kyra look and act like a drunkard. I built sandcastles with Emma, accumulated an obscene amount of seashells, dug in futility for clams... I was having so much fun shopping on the boardwalk that I hardly noticed when Allan had his wallet stolen. Or that my hair was in a perpetual state of frizz. Or how hurricane Noel crept up the east coast and caused Delaware's portion of the Atlantic to protest much like Kyra did when I tried to pull her out of the water.

But one of the best things of all was that I got to meet my very-first-ever blog friend, Doc and her adorable son Mathieu. She came to the airport before we left Baltimore, and we dined on processed fish and English chips. (I think it's what did me in.) For anyone who doesn't know Doc, she's a very funny American living in France. On her BLOG she's funny. In PERSON, she's hilarious. It was nothing short of amazing that we both happened to be on the east coast at the same time. Unfortunately it wasn't NEARLY long enough to convince her that France is much too far away. Although it WAS long enough to snag a picture. This is us after some white wine, Vodka and10.5 trips to the bathroom with our children.



So I'm officially back. Although it should be noted that after a week and a half, my bags are still only halfway unpacked. My inbox is still only halfway read. My appetite is only halfway returned. And my brain is almost halfway inoperable. Therefore, if you plan on being in this neck of Colorado, please be a doll and give me a good five days warning before stopping by. And feel free to pick up dinner.