Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Vacation 1.0

So, we made it back.

My eyes are a bit bleary and I'm still wearing yesterday's make-up (at least in theory), but that is neither here, nor there.

I have a million things to say, but since I unloaded 15 on you the last time we spoke, I'll cut you a break. No lists tonight.

Our trip? Well, I don't know exactly what to say.

Except for this: It was wonderful.

And this: I have officially fallen in love with Bethenny Frankl.

I always thought I liked her, but only because she was on The Apprentice (classic ed.), and that happens to be one of my favorite reality shows. (I still like to believe that Nick and Amy from Season 1 are married somewhere with a gaggle of wee, red-headed, future copy machine salesmen.)

I never understood why she was on the Real Housewives show. And I didn't understand the hype about her losing her baby weight. I thought I had heard something about her getting married? Maybe she wrote a book? (This is what happens when you live in the sticks and you're a cheapskate. You learn to infer things.)

I still don't understand the Housewives thing, but I can say this: The girl is funny. She's nice to Nick, the quirky Foodie. She's nice to her husband. She snot-cries on her nanny.

I miss cable tv.


OK, no. I'm not done.

We got some sun.

We got some sleep.

We burrowed into a world that is mostly foreign from our own.

The air shimmied over us like a noon-time samba.

Say what??

My apologies. That's what an overdue vacation will do for a girl.

Suffice it to say: Florida is different from Indiana.

In a good way.

It's amazing how effortlessly we adapted to all of the new and the different.

It felt so good to do whatever we dang well pleased.

We felt the usual vacation tug-of-war between doing nothing at all and feeling like we should at least be doing something.

In the end, "nothing at all" won me over, and Cory spent most of his time doing (mostly) something.

I've always had a well-honed lazy streak.

Cory is the best vacation partner I can imagine.

We just really like each other.

He mostly picked the restaurants.

I mostly picked the late-night reality tv.

It's official: getting hitched was a good idea.

We drove around listening to the radio, double-harkening back to those old days when we knew a thing or two about Pearl Jam, still amazed by the way the rhythm of an electric guitar can leave its fingerprints all over the intro of a song.

Man, it felt good to do nothing.

No cooking, no laundry, no email, no nada.

We fanned out with the fancy-pants palms and slipped right beneath the Gulf-coast skin, where the air smells different and alarm clocks are frowned upon.

I missed my kids at the exact same time that I relished not having them around.

I couldn't help but get a little introspective about our life and my dreams for it. Just felt like the right thing to do.

Then, just when I started to feel like I might start turning blue at the very edges, it was time to pack it up.

We crept out of town before daylight, wide-awake on account of the in-between feeling of leaving one happy place to return to one you like even more.

The burly guy with the mullet was on our flight home, and I cannot tell you how that comforted me.

It wasn't even 10 a.m. when the wide yawns of farmland met us. We had the day to find our groove.

I couldn't stop smiling as we rolled back into town, where we were greeted with unseasonably warm air and 3 sweaty little kids cranked up on flip flops and cousins and Mommy and Daddy.

The afternoon steadied back into its usual pace and we hugged even tighter.

I caught Cory's eye from over the top of the hullabaloo and I knew all of what didn't have to be said.

I knew that the only thing better than a solo vacation with my husband, is coming home with him when it's over.