trapped

We returned from our lovely trip to my in-laws two days ago. Something about our time there always sort of devolves, kind of like the stages of grief:

1. Arrival: What acceptance we get from family!
   
2. Hope: Our kids will always love each other! Our families exist in perfect tandem! We will get decent sleep while we're here!
3. Reconstruction: Okay, not great sleep. Actually, extremely crappy. But with a nap, I'll be ready to leave and drive the three hours home.
4. Bargaining: Okay, so napped a little later than we meant to. And it's Friday. And we have to drive through LA. But it'll be okay as long as we keep moving.
5. Shock and denial: Ack! Bumper-to-bumper on the 101 to 405. Surely it can't be like this the whole time? Maybe if we stop for lunch, it will get better!
6. Pain and guilt: Okay, honey, yes. You should have woken me up. Point taken.
7. Depression (along with rage, pain, guilt, etc). We are trapped on a long corridor with no exits with one misbehaving child, and one screaming infant who keeps getting woken from a fitful nap. We are never leaving our house again.

And then we get home and start planning our next vacation. Apparently, we recover quickly.

Hats off to my friend Abi, who actually attempts real trips with her children. Check out her insight here!