On the road again-- Oh I can wait to get on the road again

And so another trip comes to a close. It's tragic. I must return to my children and to the land of plastic farm animals.

While I was away, the children were complete angels, going to bed without a fight, wearing the clothes laid out by dad (and not trying to weasel themselves into tank tops and flip flops) and just generally being good kids. And my only question is WHY? Why couldn't they all simultaneously come down with the stomach flu? Why couldn't they all decide they will only eat olives and ketchup? Why couldn't at least one of them lay on the floor and scream and kick her feet? No trips to the ER. No drama over so-and-so not liking her. It is just not fair.

No, they decorated gingerbread houses, crawled into bed and had to be woken up each morning. My husband missed out on the pleasure of having our three-year-old forcibly open his eyes each morning. He missed out on the pitter-patter of sneaky feet heading to the cookie jar at 3 a.m. The cat didn't go in and out of the house 86 times a night.

This situation just seems WRONG. I know I should be happy life was good while I was away, but this can only mean one thing: the kids have been storing up their naughty ways for when I return.

My husband will remain clueless as to why I stare so much and sit in the corner and braid my hair. He'll continue to believe that motherhood is the easiest job of all. And I will only be left with the fond memories of a much too short vacation.

I was not gone long enough to miss them. I know there are mothers out there who are shocked that I could leave my kids for five whole days and not fall apart from a lack of oatmeal kisses. But I will admit it. Oatmeal kisses do not hold me together. Sure, I love them, but I also love a clean face once in a while. To continue to be a good mother and wife, I needed to break free from my apron strings and take a hot bath sans children. I needed to be able to wear white again. There is a reason white is the virginal color. It's because virgins and childless women are the only ones who can wear it -- and it stays white.

I arrived in San Antonio and instantly felt 10 years younger. The garbage man even waved at me--- cool I was still hot (the older I get, the lower my standards get. I'll take a wave from whenever I can get it). I was ready to salsa dance and put the high heels on, but unfortunately, I didn't get to be the saucy taquito of yesterday. Nope. My order came up short. There just wasn't enough time.

To read more of my G-rated adventures, come back throughout the week as I do plan on writing a couple more posts.

Right now, I have to pack-- darn nit--- because today is the day everything returns to normal-- no more tingling in my blood, no more hearty laughter, no more nights spent on lavender-scented some unheard of-thread count sheets (I'm going to miss that the most-- I swear it was like sleeping in cloud). It's time to return to laughter of another sort-- the kind you share with your children while you search for slugs. It's time to return to three little bodies sneaking into my room at midnight because Daddy is gone and my little ones know I'm a sucker for scary shows and can't sleep either. It's time to return to life.

It's been a nice vacation-- and all kidding aside, I am happy my husband had a good time with my kids. Quality daddy-daughter time is a rarity in our house because he is never home. The girls will cherish this weekend for a long time, and I am so glad they didn't just sit around and watch a Sponge Bob marathon.

I'm glad I didn't either-- though I'm sad to say I didn't get to the Riverwalk. Oh well, it's time to go. If my plane should smash into a thousand pieces (because I am superstitious and believe that if I don't write and settle my affairs before I take off, just know that I love my family and that some where in heaven, I am salsa dancing and playing the role of Queen Mararget once again).