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We’re back from vacation.

(Actually, we got back last week, but I’m having laptop issues.)

I don’t wanna be back from vacation. I wanna be on the beach.


This year, we met our BFFs in Cape Charles, Virginia, with a side trip to Colonial Williamsburg on the 4th of July. Awesomeness.

My sista Gretchen and I have been planning family vacations together for the last 6 years – ever since we moved from our homes 1.25 miles apart to our homes 1400 miles apart. All six of our kids were born within months of each other, and they are like family to us. Love them so much.

Gretch and I survived our husbands’ residencies together, and if we could survive residency with four kids (at the time) under the age of five, we can survive ANYTHING.

That little theory was tested this past year.

She and I both prepared and sold our homes and moved across town. When Meghan and I visited Cleveland last spring, I helped her clean out her garage. At 1:00 in the morning. Because her house was being listed the next day.

Long story.

Anyway, by the time vacation planning rolled around, we were both wiped out. Exhausted. Pooped. Done. Normally when we plan our vacation, we are The Super Organized Mamas. We have schedules. We have agendas. We have menus. We have plans.

Not this year. This year, vacation was termed “Lay-cation.” As in “lazy” and “vacation.” No schedules. No agendas. Loosely constructed menu for the sake of grocery shopping (when we got there). The only plans we had were the day trip to Williamsburg and lots and lots and lots of relaxation.

We kinda laugh every year post-vacation because every year, without fail, God hands us the precise vacation that we “need” for that particular year, and when we plan it, we have no idea what we will end up needing come summer. Does that make sense? God already knows what will happen in our lives between vacation planning and actual vacation, and He makes sure we plan something that will restore us in the way we will need to be restored.

This year was no exception. Usually we start planning vacation around February, but this year we were in the trenches of selling and moving until April, so we didn’t do much planning. And that was okay.

The place we God chose for us this year was a condo in a private condo community with a private beach, two pools and two golf courses – which worked out very, very well.

(BTW, we have always used VRBO.com, and we always end up with a fabulous house that will accommodate 4 adults and 6 kids quite comfortably – and when we split the cost between the two families, we end up paying around $100 a night. We save a small fortune on food since we can cook all of our meals, and we love putting the kids to bed and having a space to stay up and talk and laugh and watch movies and drink margaritas. Beautiful, beautiful vacation. We love vacation.)

This was our first year to stay in a condo instead of a house. Pros: private beach, pools and golf courses. Cons: Six kids who were very, very, VERY excited to be together and people living below and beside us. Trying to keep the kids quiet…not fun. But, again, we had the beach and the pools, so we tried to spend a lot of time outside.

And just because we are mean and unreasonable parents whose sole purpose in life is to make our children miserable, we dragged them to the beach almost every day as they whine and complain, “But I don’t waaaaaannnnnaaaaaa go to the beach! There’s too much saaaaaannnnd! And it’s saaaaalt wateeeeeeeerrrrr! And seeeeeeeaweeeeeeed!” Nevermind that they squealed and screeched with delight as they took turns burying each other in the sand, filled buckets and buckets and buckets with sea shells, and splashed in the tepid water. Sure looked like they were having fun to me. (But they’d never EVER admit it.)

So now we’re back. Laycation is over. I’m suffering from PVDD (Post Vacation Depression Disorder). I so don’t want to be home. I want to be on the beach.

So I’ll tell you all about Williamsburg and Jamestown and why you have to check your luggage 40 minutes before your flight…later this week. Right now, I’m going to wallow in my post-vacation misery.



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