Need a break?
A friend or coworker just returned home from vacation and you ask them, "How was it?" Their response: "I need a vacation from my vacation."
Sound familiar? It seems the American way is to cram so much activity and excitement into our vacations that you return more energetically diminished than after a typical week at home and work.
Our recent family excursion is a bit unique in that respect.
First, this trip we made to Cheyenne was fairly laid back. This is the first I have ever returned from a week of paid time off relaxed and refreshed. By the time well pulled into our driveway last Saturday, I was ready to launch back into my regular routine.
Furthermore, this is the first time that I actually get to take a vacation from my vacation. We got home from Cheyenne last weekend, and we're taking a weekend road trip to Seattle next weekend.
Input Overload
Speaking of too much activity and excitement, that's how Christian feels.
While in Wyoming, Christian met more family members than he knew existed, learned from my genealogist grandfather that we're descendants of John Alden, and got a four generation family tree drawn out that detailed every member of the Budd family from my grandparents down through my cousins and our kids.
We spent an afternoon at Children's Village, exploring the gardens and fountains; learning about aerodynamics, solar power, and wind power; and using the hands on demonstrations of waterwheels and Archimedes' screw. The next day, we split our afternoon between the Wyoming State Museum and the Cheyenne public library.
By the time we were done, Christian had had his fill of mental stimuli. He could not handle any more. He even told us that we were stuffing too much into his brain.
"I've learned so much stuff," he said, "my brain is full."
Something isn't right
Being home means that I have resumed my normal schedule. However, that normalcy includes staying up far too late and leaving for work before anyone else in my house wakes up.
I don't care who you are, such a lifestyle will catch up with you. It caught up with me this week.
When I arrived at work, I parked my green Ford Explorer under a tree along the back fence. When I left work, I tried to get into a green Ford Explorer parked under a tree along the back fence, but the key would not unlock the door. Wrong green Ford Explorer parked under a different tree.
I went to bed early after that.
Fall of grace
I wouldn't describe myself as clumsy, but I do have my moments. Lacking in rhythm? Yes. A complete inability to dance? Yes. Uncoordinated? Maybe. But a klutz? Not usually.
But I do have moments of ungraceful greatness. Earlier this week, I overstepped the final carpeted step before the stairway tops out at hardwood floors. I stumbled and fell up the stairs. In the process, I managed to stub toes on both feet (I was barefoot at the time) and bang both of my shins - all on the same wooden transition strip between the carpet and hardwood. Then I landed flat on my face.
Yes, I am that talented.
Apt analogy
About my utter lack of dancing skills... When explaining my mad dance moves to a coworker, I compared myself to a fat kid with tourettes being chased by a swarm of angy wasps through an obstacle course.
You don't believe me? Sorry, I am not going to shake my groove thing in public just to prove that I dance like a penguin with two broken legs and a severe case of vertigo. I prefer to embarrass myself in the privacy of my own home.
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