We’re back and fully unpacked from a week in the Hamptons. Notice I’m not calling it a “vacation”; I’ve come to realize there’s no word in the English language to describe travel with a small person. It’s certainly not a “vacation” in the traditional sense; just more of the same exhaustion in a different location. Particularly when you’re sharing a room with your two year old (as were we). When we left eight days ago Peanut was sleeping until anywhere between 7 and 8am. This morning she woke up at 5:30 (ready to party, naturally). Of course, that’s another story – and another lesson. I’m not sure we’ll ever sleep in the immediate environs of any related toddler again.
At least not by choice.
Still, getting away gave us an opportunity to do some things we rarely have time for (or simply aren’t possible) at home. There was plenty of swimming, sunning, and laughter. Sandcastles were built, digging was productive, and pails were filled with shells. Rocks – worn smooth by the waves – were rubbed and admired. Sticky fingers were the rule, not the exception.
And in a world where it’s sometimes difficult to share parenting equally because of pesky things like work schedules and long hours, Daddy was able to get his time in the sun. Literally and figuratively.