Oh God Are We Still On Vacation?

How long have we been here? A day and a half!? But we’ve had twelve meals! You’re saying nine of them were “snacks?” Seven of those involved croque-monsieurs!

I’m not sure how much longer I can last. I’m not used to talking to our children so much. They have so many more questions than last year, like “what’s taking you so long, dummy?” and “where do babies come from before mommy and daddy love each other very much?” Also, I’m disturbed by their British curse words. Hearing “this bloody crayon!” and “Ow! I fell on my arse!” is bewildering. I think they should stop watching Peppa Pig.

By noon, my head is swimming and I need to eat leftover turkey topped by lots of chocolate syrup so that I can fall asleep for a nap but wake up later, ready and buzzed to build a third Disney sandcastle. You know they get really upset if I don’t make the right number of crenellations that they can immediately smash. And then I need the strength to pull them out of the undertow, since I didn’t see them go into the ocean owing to the tears in my eyes about my ruined parapets.

I know it’s sad. I was looking forward to all of our time together, but I didn’t know most of it would involve dressing for our next activity. Can’t they wear the same bathing suit to the pool and the beach and the bath?  Wouldn’t a muumuu made out of towels be a perfect outfit for our dinner at Captain Phillip’s Container Ship Full o’ Pirates? I just think we could simplify our routines a bit.

The chocolate will start to take effect soon.
The chocolate will start to take effect soon.

I thought taking walks to the pier would be fun, but Bobby took the opportunity to stuff a handful of bait worms in his mouth. I’m guessing his gummy-worm addiction is solved now. They also seem to have no interest in playing mini-golf, which is the one thing I really wanted to do since it’ll make them question whether a guy that beats them by 15 shots is really a “gormless codger.” How ‘bout a snack now, Bobby?

But mostly I just want a few hours of quiet time. You know, the kind I get at the office, where I can’t understand the swearwords (they’re in Hindi) and a machine doles out the snacks. Where we never schedule anything right after lunch so that we can get caught up on Clickhole. Where the most confusing and exhausting activity is starting a conference line. Where, most importantly, the children are off being educated by people who should be paid much more, no matter what they earn now. Because if they have to spend a week with our children, I guarantee you they are eating turkey with chocolate syrup and barbiturates for dinner. At least that’s my plan for tomorrow.

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