by Amy L. Hatch
We’re on Day Two of vacation rehab.
After 16 straight days of late bedtimes, mountains of sugar and miles and miles of seashore at which to run, yell and get dirty, we’re back to the Chambana routine of going to sleep while the sky is still light, eating our veggies and washing our hands before every meal.
It ain’t easy, folks.
Who wouldn't want to do this for the rest of their life? Photo by Karen Hatch
Vacations are great, don’t get me wrong. I loved the days we spent at Cape Cod, and I have both the sunburn and the minivan full of sand to prove it. We swam, surfed and snacked to our hearts content and even for me, it’s hard to get back in the rhythm of an ordinary day here on the prairie.
Tempers are short, and maybe our expectations are a little too high. After all, our kids are only 5 and 2 years old. They aren’t 39 (gulp! when did that happen?), with years of experience to help them make the transition.
Oh, who am I kidding? Transitions are hard for me, too. I’d much rather be throwing myself at the mercy of an icy riptide than fighting back waves of clutter from the family room. I hated to leave and I hated to stay, if you know what I mean.
Coming back to Chambana feels (mostly) like home to me, and it has for quite awhile, as I’ve chronicled here.
But coming back from Rochester, N.Y. and coming back from the ocean are two different animals, indeed. I always felt wistful when we crossed the bridge back to the mainland, even during the years when I left Cape Cod for the exciting hustle and bustle of my teen years in London.
There’s just something about the salt air that’s entirely addicting.
So it’s vacation rehab for us. I just hope it doesn’t take 28 days.
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Good luck getting back into your routine! We’ll be facing the same dilemma … next week!