There’s something about returning from vacation that colors me blue. For some strange reason I don’t like standing amidst heaps of dirty laundry and luggage, fatigued from a hairy (transatlantic!) journey, clutching exhausted babies with upside-down Circadian rhythms, staring a new week of work in the face. And probably I’ll be standing there with that poignant sense of loss we feel when something we’ve been looking forward to has sped past and is now over.
Can anything be done? My mother taught me this: Leave the house ready to welcome you back. Leave it clean and shining. Once those babies are bathed and tucked into clean beds, dump out the dirty laundry and shove the luggage back into its hiding place. Then plug in the lamps and put the kettle on. Say to yourself, “Isn’t it lovely to be home?”
We’re ready to go. The bed holds two open suitcases–one of gifts, one for all our clothes. I keep revisiting the packed clothes and thinning them out. We don’t need that one. A new backpack for Norah with a few snacks and activities for the plane hides in the closet. My friend has promised to water the garden. Norah has harvested her bean crop (six so far but one, due to overpowering temptation, was prematurely harvested and eaten raw last week).
Also I’ve scrubbed and vacuumed and done all the laundry, mending, and ironing. There are clean sheets on the beds and clean rugs on the floors. The grocery list for our first week back is on the fridge, there’s lasagne in the freezer for our first dinner. We’re ready to come back.