We are finally at home, and our vacation was lovely.
The weather was beautiful. Irresistibly warm, crazy-hot really: the kind of heat you can't enjoy without jumping in the pool every few minutes, or turning your lounge chair to face the breezes off the ocean.
The food and drink was good (not GREAT, mind you, but "you get what you pay for") and they were, after all, unlimited. Because large quantities of anything somehow makes it taste better. Or not. Whatever.
I devoured no less than five novels, along with way more food than is probably healthy, or helpful to my hips for that matter.
And the company was just delightful: the kind of friends who can talk for hours, play a mean game of spades, or sit in unhurried silence.
Despite the general loveliness of our vacation, I am actually not a jet-setter at heart; so by the last day or two, I was ready to head home.
My arms developed this itch, which I knew wouldn't be scratched until they held little Jayci tight within them. I longed, ached really, to nestle into her still-baby softness, even knowing she would struggle to assert her almost-one-year-old freedom. I wanted to see her flash her two little pearly whites at me. To watch her realize that I had somehow sneaked a bow, unnoticed, into her hair, and then unceremoniously rip it out. I even longed to watch her arch her back and yell/scream with frustration when she doesn't get her way (this longing might have been the pina colada talking. . .)
Not to mention the fact that everything we did left me thinking about how fun it would be to have Zack and Sabo along. When we went snorkeling, and I found myself surrounded by flashing slivers of back, blue, yellow, striped fish eating bread from our hands, all I could think was: Oh the boys would just love this (actually they'd be freaked out and excited all at once but whatever). And as I sat and watched the vastness of the ocean, I ached to tell Sabo about a God who is powerful enough to hold the waves in His palm, but who loved HIM individually.
Besides all that sappy stuff, our resort didn't have diet coke. And I was MORE than ready for a big ol' fountain one. Next time before we go on vacation, we need to call and make sure they serve Diet Coke and not Diet Pepsi, which bears an uncanny resemblance in flavor to soap if you ask me (not that you did, but when has that ever stopped me before?)