I overlooked the boy reaching his hand into the freshly flushed toilet bowl and then licking his fingers. I washed him off and tried to keep going. It was when he reached those wet hands into the sand used to hold cigarette butts at the front door of the field house that I snapped.
We are going home I said as I grabbed the boy and marched over to our pile of bags and towels spread out on the grass. I bundled everything up and got us home. As quick as you can get home with two kids, two bikes, armfuls of stuff and an angry mom.
Home hadn't been that much better earlier, which was why we ended up at the park. The girl and I had been fighting on and off all afternoon as she insisted we go to a further away park and I said no because I was too tired. I yelled. She yelled. We both cried.
I am finding it hard to be back home. The euphoria of seeing the kids quickly faded as I was pulled back into the day to day life of a stay-at-home mom. Hours after our plane landed I was starting to wonder if I could keep doing this. If maybe I shouldn't go back to work after all. It had to be easier then this I found myself thinking.
For the first time in a long time I had a taste of freedom. It tasted sweet. Like chocolate cake. Like new love. Like who I used to be. You know, that girl who had so much time on her hands that she didn't know what to do with it and so she squandered it carelessly. Oh the things I would tell that girl if I could.
I am just readjusting I tell myself. In a few days I will have settled back into a familiar pattern and it will be easier. I will remember why I do this. I will forget that sweet taste of freedom. And it will be easier.