Gypsies

Summer is our season. Combine a husband's flexible work schedule with a serious case of wanderlust and the result is endless summer fun all while living out of suitcases. Our travels took us to the beach with my husband's family, to Disney World to visit a dear friend, then to another beach with my family.


Traveling with 3 young children is a challenge. Add autism, a whining preschooler who insists she lost the ability to walk, and a newly-minted toddler whose sole purpose in life is to destroy everything in his path to the mix and it is downright exhausting. My husband and I often joke that we don't go on vacation but merely pack up the contents of our house and live somewhere else for a few weeks. Exhausting, yes. But totally worth it.

Old memories were relived, new memories made. Kate splashing in the ocean, riding the waves on her little boogie board like a pro, jumping into the pool and swimming under the water. Annie laughing with her cousins, singing songs from High School Musical at the top of her lungs, riding a roller coaster for the first time. Little Fella playing in the sand, taking his first steps, eyes wide while taking in the sights and sounds of Disney World. These are the things that I will remember.

Now all I need to do is lose the 5 pounds I gained from pigging out, give my liver time to repair from the alcohol consumption, catch up on some sleep, and dig myself out from under mountains of laundry. Then I think I will need a vacation.

A Walk in My Shoes

Last night I came home to two orange girls. Orange ink from a stamp pad covered their hands, feet, and faces. Handprints covered the kitchen table and chairs. Footprints danced around the kitchen floor. A sheepish looking husband was found on the couch, not moving a muscle for fear of waking a slumbering Little Fella on his chest. "Sorry," he managed apologetically. I shot him a dirty look, let out a loud sigh, and quickly busied myself in the clean-up process before the girls inflicted any more damage. "I don't know how you do it," he said.

With those words, my irritation vanished. During the hour or so I was out of the house, he got a glimpse of what my life is like on a daily basis. And now he understands.

So, dear husband, now you understand the mountain of laundry, the unmade bed, the empty refrigerator, the stack of unopened mail, messy rooms, my short fuse, uncooked dinners, why I fall asleep on the couch at 8:30, why sometimes I just need to sit next to you without saying a word and just enjoy the quiet. Thank you for taking this walk in my shoes. And thank you for understanding.