Addison and Lindsay are traveling on vacation now, and I'm stuck here at home. Wait, reverse that. I'm on vacation here at home, and my wife is in another state away from all our comfort zones and routines, trying to wrangle our two-year-old and get her to bed on time and to eat something other than Cheetos.
It's sad that what I used to think of as "vacation" (traveling somewhere new, road trips, airplanes, relatives, visiting friends, exotic places) has now become the most dreaded part of my life, something filled with poor sleep, cranky kids, cranky me, no internet, and lots of anxiety. Lindsay always says I'm a worse traveler than my two-year-old is. I owe my wife something big for lopping a full week off of the amount of time I'm expected to be on "vacation" with them. I'll fly out and join them on Sunday, having taken one full week by myself to mentally prepare for multiple family reunions in different parts of the western United States. Don't get me wrong, I like some of my family. But squashing all those hugs and picture-taking and shuttling from one sleeping location to another into a few days is probably going to give me ulcers. Clearly, my anxieties run deep, and warrant another, bigger blog post sometime in the future. And maybe therapy.
Happy vacation, honey. You're the best.