Yep, I'm back from vacation. In a day or two, I'll write about our beach cabin, "Pirate's Nook," which was only five stars short of 5-star accomodations; the day I wrecked my dad's luxury car; my foundation undergarment disaster at my high school reunion; and why one should not leave family reunion details to one's mother with significant short-term memory loss.
But I'm too busy to write much right now. Besides doing laundry and searching the pockets of my suitcases for hidden liquids, gels, and lip glosses, I have to reintegrate my children into the home environment. Ever since we've returned, they've expected me to come through the living room with a beverage cart and complimentary headphones, and yesterday I found my son, the consummate beach bum, wandering around the yard, looking for the campground shuffleboard court and that cute Canadian girl he met at the pool.
On second thought, maybe I should let him continue in his search for young Miss Canada. He's finally expressed an interest in learning a foreign language.
I'm uncertain, though, how knowing French is going to further his career at the Taco Bell 24-hour drive-through.