We returned home from vacation tonight, having spent the last several days in our coats, hats, gloves, and scarves in Florida. 2010 is starting out with a healthy dose of irony.
I left my camera in my purse the whole vacation and I left my purse in the hotel room the whole vacation. I resigned from my position as the family pack mule, leaving each morning with only what I could fit in my pockets. So, I have no photographic evidence that we ever set foot in Florida last week. And I'm totally okay with that.
When I get home from vacation, I have to start doing the laundry right away. Like, within the first 30 minutes. I don't know why, and please don't get under the impression that I am one of those neat freaks. I'm not. Maybe I like the white noise, the hum and tumble of my washer and dryer working together. Perhaps it brings back ancient memories of my time in the womb. My mom had five kids already when she was pregnant with me, so she was pretty much doing laundry non-stop until 1999 or so.
I remember sitting inside the dryer when I was a toddler (78% of you just cringed). I'd sit in the drum, with the door wide open while my mom folded laundry. My legs were folded like a pretzel and I'd swish left and right like a sideways swing.
Maybe if I'd played inside the old, abandoned refrigerator like my brother Lyle, I'd clean out my fridge more often. Lyle was such a fridge hog!
Sigh. Good times.
Anyway, I really love a vacation, but what I love even more is coming home. I'm tired of being transient and I'm even more tired of those stupid automated sinks in public bathrooms that turn on two seconds of water for every forty-seventh idiotic clap and wave of the hands. Please, sink, please may I have a little more water to wash off the soap? How about if I do Jazz Hands? Will Jazz Hands get me water? The automated sinks are on a power trip if I've ever seen one.
I know this didn't really tie together, but it's late. Insert tied-together ending here.