Whack! Right in the eye!! OWWWWW! Was that a TOE?? Jeez! These are sounds I hear in the night as we co-sleep with our toddler on "vacation". I put that in quotations because I really don't think driving to visit family qualifies as a vacation. It's more of a summer task. Yes, I love my parents (in small doses) and my siblings, but I don't like getting the queen (which felt like a twin) bed to share with our child, in the guest room decorated by Aunt Rita in 1979. I don't like the squish of pink carpet between my toes. I abhor fabric softener that smells like a mix of eau de toilet and fertilizer. Are those mothballs on the Laura Ashley comforter?
My brother, who's also visiting with his wife and children pokes his head into the bathroom (still no privacy) asking if I want orange juice with my pancakes. I nod in a sort of a stupor, hadn't I left all of this behind in high school, and then I yell through the closing door "with VODKA!"
Bon Voyage!
