I Don't Want To Go On The Cart.

I'm not dead yet, y'all. Not even close. You thought maybe, though, didn't you? It's just that - you see - I've been settling in.
Not unpacking - the suitcases stand in the living room still full of clean clothes waiting to be put away.
Not cleaning the house - the chaos surrounding me at this moment could choke a camel.

No, I've been settling in. Getting the boys back on some semblence of a routine since returning from the beach.

Ahhhh the beach. Let's pause for a moment, shall we, and reflect on the beauty and wonder that is the Outer Banks. For all the usual vacation wacky-ness that ensued, the long drives, and the stressing about "do I REALLY need to spend the extra 5 bucks to get a coffee mug to remind me of this vacation?" (And yes, I did. It has a crab and says "Crabby 'till I get my coffee"... see? Can't you just TASTE the cheese?!) it was the most relaxed I've been in a long time.

Being home again is odd. There wasn't much time to ramp up, and we dove right back in to the chaos of living once we got home. Yesterday was spent in a half-awake stupor after Toby was up all night teething, constipated, and totally time-confused. Today was a trip to my dentist office which, because I don't trust the local good'ole boy dentists to do their best to leave me with at least SOME of my natural teeth, is located a good 40 minutes away and next to T's office. Tomorrow I plan to finally catch up on the myriad of household chores that need doing before I have a Sign Language playgroup here on Friday.

And Saturday? Well, Saturday is tentatively reserved for the arrival of our new baby.

Yes, because the hubs and I are both big children, we are breaking every known rule of parenthood and going ahead and getting the dog NOW, even though Jack has yet to prove that he will actually poop in anything not resembling a diaper. Except for that one time he took a steamy squat on my living room rug, but I'm doing my best to repress the memory. Take me at my word when I say it was right up there with stepping in cat puke first thing in the morning.

There are so many thoughts floating around in my head about things that happened on vacation, plans for the future, the total failure of my attempts to wean at the beach, and Toby's unshakeable determination to NOT give up his lordship of my breasts or sleep through the night. Or sleep at all when he can help it, for that matter. I couldn't possibly organize my thoughts enough to communicate anything coherent, so I'm afraid you will all have to deal with the slow trickle of anecdotes as they reappear at the forefront of my brain in the coming days. There are some really great stories to be told - like how I accidentally exposed myself to a beach full of strangers and how fun it is to have someone look at you strangely when you say "I got crabs from Dirty Dick's!" - but they will have to come later. I'll have to ease back into this, so be gentle... and maybe lubricate me with a scoche of Vanilla Latte. Beyond that?

It's (mostly) good to be home. (but it was better to be on vacation.)