If You’d Been There: Just Write

Buzzbuzzbuzz…can you hear the drone in the background? I’m pretty sure you can, because I sensed you readers sitting, like flies on the wall, the entire time the T. family was in Mexico. Every joy and giggle, every wrinkle and calamity that unfolded, I felt your presence–but in a good way–not in a gross, annoying, I-need to whack-the-shit-outta-those-flies kind of way.

Does that make any sense at all?

Probably not, but I am in no position to offer apologies. Post-vacation re-entry is Hell and I’m just happy to be typing away here in any possible form. I’m going to warn you now not to expect excellence or even coherence, folks, so please lower your standards immediately.  Gracias.

Several weeks of almost complete scarcity from the Land of Internet has left me feeling wretched and out of touch. I find myself stumbling for a way to begin, as if I need to re-introduce myself or something.

So, hi. I’m Dana. I’ve missed you. And lest you think there’s been some kind of seismic shift over the past weeks, let me assure you: I am still foul and flawed and snarky and the #1 specialist in all matters relating to vomit and shit.

And yes, as per requirement, the latter two played supporting roles in the T. family vacation. Some things just don’t change.

What has changed, or at least it feels like it, is my confidence in this space. I’m scrounging for purpose and I have no freaking idea what kind of blog this is, because I’m all over the place. I used to write about food. I still want to do that, but I haven’t for a while. I’ve written a buttload about puberty and parenting lately, which I still want to do. I’ve written about murdering pets and my devotion to Judy Blume and other random things, which lands me smack-dab in the category of NutjobQuirkBlog but I don’t know what to do about it. For now, I’ll just ask for your kindness and patience while I wrestle with my identity crisis.

As if anyone ever wants to hear about someone else’s identity crisis. Gah. I’ll move on now.

But the Swear Jar is not invited along for the ride today.

*awkward segue*

If You’d Been a Fly on My Vacation Wall: Snippets, Quotes and Calamities

~ Please feel free to admire my charming family photos from the trip. Oh wait. We forgot the friggin’ camera. But that’s okay because we have an iPhone! Total pictures taken on the iPhone in one week: 3.

~ Delay of outgoing flight: 1 hour, 15 minutes. Number of times Miss M. cried out of frustration re: delayed flight: 2. Although she was on the edge an additional two times and was only calmed via chocolate intervention.

~ Weather forecast (10-day) for Quintana Roo, Mexico: Showers/Thunderstorms, chance of precipitation 60%.

~Accuracy of weather forecast: 100%.  However. We only had one full day of rain; mornings would dawn cloudy and stormy, but by 1 pm, the blustery stuff cleared out and gave way to sun and blue skies. Total blessing.

~Not a total blessing? Minx wake-up calls every morning at 6am. How many hours total did they spend waiting/wailing/complaining of boredom until 1pm sunshine broke through? You do the math. And then triple it because it felt like that much longer.

~ First beach frolic of the vacation with Daddy (Miss M. version): *splashing in aquamarine waves and rockin’ the gap-toothed grin*–“Daddy, is this real?”

~ It is.

~ Unexpected appearances by a pubescent menstrual cycle: 1.

~ Ensuing correspondence re: unexpected pubescent menstrual cycle:

“Mom, my stomach hurts.”

“You just have to poop, dude. No biggie.”

Text message to husband later that afternoon: “Eww! D. got her period and didn’t tell me! Just found a pair of fatal undies crumpled in a corner.”

Text: “You are getting the emergency supplies. I already braved the Superama once this vacation and I’m not f-ing doing it again.”

Text: “While you are out, procure alcohol.”

Poolside conversation: “Your older daughter just ruthlessly turned her back and shunned her sister in front of all those kids. What the Hell? She’s seven kinds of horrid today.”

“Relax. It’s just Hormones.”

*hollering for poolside ears everywhere* “Hormones, my fat ass! It doesn’t give her the right to be a stinkbag, vicious monster!”

1 hour later (hubs): “Honey, you’re too tense. Let’s go to the swim-up bar. D. can watch M. for 30 minutes.”

“Are you mental? Have you seen how awful D. is being to her sister? I’m not leaving Miss M. in the care of Mary, Queen of Scots.”

~ Number of minutes it took us to kill annihilate the buzz of the snuggly, just-married couple sitting next to us at the pool: 5.

~ Number of days before children whined that they wanted to go home: 4

~Scale of motherly rage at above request: Richter.

~ Age at which a child decides that the awesome Westin Kid’s Club is not so awesome anymore: 6

~ Buckets of mommy tears cried after this announcement: 500,000.

~ Plates of ceviche eaten in 7 days: 5.

~ Don’t even ask about the bathroom visits. Ceviche is the ultimate system cleaner, y’all. But absolutely worth it.

~ Morning of departure from Mexico (Miss M.): “Part of me wants to stay here but part of me wants to go home.”

~ Number of minutes between the announcement from D that, “Mom, I think I’m going to barf” and actual projectile hurl: 0.0.

~ Some things never change.

 

All in all, it could have been worse. By far. We had enough sunshine and beach time to come home sporting tan lines, and the girls never actually came to fisticuffs. One barf only, and it was just as we were sliding into our driveway (whew). No la tourista (whew). Everyone is still on speaking terms. It’s all good.

This weekend I’m catering a New Orleans-style feast (for–gulp–18 people) for a charity event, so I’ll be scarce the next few days, but I hope to get back in the groove sometime after that. Thanks for putting up with all of my antics and whining. You guys are the coolest cats on the fence.

Happy Summer, Readers! Let the mayhem (and summer cocktail recipes) begin.

xoxo,

Kitch