Jiggety Jig

Paige woke me up at around 2:30 this morning and in the first instant of wakefulness I had one of those bleary-eyed “Wait, where am I?” moments. Then I realized I was home. Back in good old Oakland, C.A., in my very own bed.

We had more than a two-hour flight delay yesterday, most of which was spent in the plane on the tarmac with Mark furiously tapping away on his iPhone to get to the bottom of why we weren’t leaving (or being given any information). All he managed to find was something that said we’d already departed, which only spiked his blood pressure further. 

The girls did am impressive show of resisting sleep through most of the flight, a particular feat seeing as it was their bedtime by the time we finally went ‘wheels up.’ When they eventually managed to conk out they were held or propped up by Mark and I in ways that left our cramped immobile limbs feeling like they’d never come un-numb. (Yet we were still grateful for their sleep.)

It being Jet Blue, I watched something on the order of 7 straight hours of that Bravo show about the Type-A OCD gay guy who flips houses in LA–something people had told me about but I’d never seen. I now feel like I’m dear friends with the cast and if I never watch TV again it will be too soon.

We staggered through the airport bleary-eyed at 9PM with Kate bawling dramatically over something or other, waited forever in the chilly NoCal air for the parking lot shuttle to fetch us and our eight–yes, eight–bags, and finally cracked open the door to our neglected stuffy house after 10PM.

Everyone crawled into their beds in short order. I think we were all sucking our thumbs and asleep within minutes of hitting the sheets.

Sometimes it takes a harrowing trip home to make you appreciate the end to an excellent vacation.