Well, here I am. One full day back at home under my belt. It's a weird feeling to be in my house and feel unsure about how it all goes. But I'm sure we'll be back into a soul-crushing routine in no time.
I would have blogged more about my trip, but it wasn't really too interesting. OR maybe it's that I am not so interesting. Or maybe travel writers are full of shit, as a group. Maybe I was just depressed that I never got to see that eel. Or perhaps it is just that it is hard to have a scintillating eco-venture vacation full of bungee jumps and jet boat rides like everybody expects when you go to New Zealand when you are enslaved by a 19 month old and her sleep needs.
Instead I did lots of co-napping (awesome, but not worth a $3500 plane ticket) and drinking of wine outside of motel rooms containing my sleeping child. Yes, on more than one occasion we sat outside all night drinking cheap wine like a bunch of hobos, because we couldn't force ourselves to go to bed at eight. I was only *slightly* worried I was going to need medically supervised detox when I got home.
Speaking of detox, it's time to do something rash when it comes to my eating habits. I'm thinking 30 day cleanse in which I give up everything I hold dear and try to subsist on vegetables and meats alone. Or I could go less hardcore maniac and just do a two week South Beach style induction. I'm leaning toward hardcore maniac.