There's so much crammed into the week away. The kids plan epic water balloon fights with their cousins, we paddle board in the bay and boogie board in the ocean, we crab on the pier, we play Yahtzee on the back patio late at night, and we track ungodly amounts of sand into our vehicles and temporary house for the week.
I plow through a gorgeous stack of books, I eat more than necessary, and I enjoy every bite. We collect clam shells in the surf, we use up multiple bottles of sunscreen, and we spend one night at Funland on the Rehoboth boardwalk where my children play skeeball and win remarkably unattractive stuffed animals that they instantly love and I instantly plot their disappearance.
My children, who pendulum between the extremes of being intensely wired and then overwhelmingly tired from such expenditure of physical and emotional energy, periodically have meltdowns about things they shouldn't have meltdowns about -- like me not capitulating to a request to feed them ice cream both before and after dinner.
Consequently, I periodically have a meltdown about things that I shouldn't have meltdowns about, like my kids requesting that I feed them ice cream both before and after dinner.
This is all par for the course during a vacation, I remind myself. A little saltwater -- whether sweat, tears, or the sea -- do manage to cure all the temporary woes.
And just like that, the days pass both slowly and quickly.