Vacations are supposed to be times to relax, to chill, to let the stress of the year seep through your pores.
I'm not sure why, then, most vacations are spent on visiting family.
When, you know, you bring the kids.
This vacation was anything but relaxing. The kids have taken whine steroids and are now overdosing on Linda Blair-like behavoir after being shuttled to strange places for the last week. If I escape with any semblance of my sanity, and my hearing, after we get home on Friday it will be a minor miracle, not walking on water, but definitely on par with a three-pointer to tie the title game with no time left.
I came down with a bug or got food poisoning from Taco Tico - not sure which, though I am blaming Taco Tico for now - and suffered the seat blows for several days. The good news is I really didn't eat nearly as much as I planned. The bad news is I didn't run nearly as much either, and when I tried running today, well, it sucked. I felt like I'd never laced up my shoes.
No doubt, this was a fun trip, and there's still a couple more days to go. It's always nice to see the rents, even in separate places, and they all were a big help with the kids. Kate and I got some time to ourselves, though we were, ahem, interrupted today in the morning by the toddler.
But vacations, I think I'm learning, are not designed to relax. They are there to remind you that life at home, though it may seem like a grind, is really pretty good.