We are back...regrouping, reassimilating, and trying to keep that easy vacation vibe going now that we're back to our real-life responsibilities.
It was a pretty glorious eight days for a slew of obvious reasons: sun, sand, surf, ice cream, nature walks, bike rides, picnics, dance parties, farmers markets. But what made the trip truly awesome was that for the first time in the nine years that we've gone on this vacation both girlies fully got it. They understood how special all that aforementioned sun, sand, surf, ice cream, et al really was. And they told us. A lot.
Take, for example, day two of the trip, when Millie and I were partaking in some lazing on the grass/people watching/fresh juice sipping. She reached over, cupped my face in her hands, and said, "This is the best day in my life...ever."
You can't put a price on that action friends. It is just good stuff.
However (there's always a however, isn't there?), there were a few, well...not so awesome moments. It wasn't all sunshine and juice. In between the getting it the girls bickered, a lot...oh and I got, wait for it...Shingles (!), on the very first day. And said Shingles lasted the entire vacation (still have 'em in fact), and they hurt, like the dickens.
And, yet, somehow I kept on trucking. There was no way, after all the planning and anticipating and driving, that I was going to let some angry rash and nerve pain ruin my vacation. No siree. In all seriousness, I took meds, practiced my breathing exercises, and said all manner of prayers and chants to the powers that be that the damn stuff wouldn't spread to my face. Then I threw a t-shirt over my bathing suit, poured myself a drink, and proceeded to have the best. week. ever. (Give or take.)