Well, it's officially been just over a week since we got home from the land down under.
We are jet-lag free (finally), temperature acclimated, and thankful.
Thankful because we love our life in Texas, but a little sad because we loved our "life" in Australia. After we talked about it, we realized that we miss it so much because it was somewhere we could see ourselves. We made a life, a routine there. We knew the local shops, the baristas, and the things tourists don't have time to find out. Colin will be going back and forth over this next year, and I'm thankful that I got the chance to see where he will be doing life for a few months.
Our flight home was, well, l-o-n-g. Coming home always takes "longer" doesn't it?! 26 hours of flying brought on some serious cankles. Like to the point that the shoes I wore ON the airplane wouldn't fit when we got OFF the airplane. The shoes were tennis shoes people; those are like to go-to shoes for swollen feet. Convinced pregnancy will not be a pretty thing. Maxi dresses and barefoot? We will have to time this correctly.
I'm also kind of disappointed my large consumption of sweet potatoes, butternut squash, pumpkin, and other orange winter veggies didn't produce a tan orange glow like I had when I was a baby. That's right, I had jaundice. So did Col. Future Baby Dismuke, get excited. You'll look great in orange.
Oh my gosh, I am so thankful for ice water! It's like the restaurants in Australia have some vendetta against ice. Really, guys, it's pretty fantastic. It gets people to drink more water. Straws aren't a bad idea either. Lukewarm tap water was always available, but no ice. Or straws. Especially crushed ice! Is it odd I'm crunching on some now? Mmmmmmm
After a week home, a few exercise, ice cream, and coffee dates later, I decided that I should buck up and clean the house.
But I don't wantttt toooooooo! I mean it's not like we were here dirtying it up. False. You know who was? Spiders. 17 cobwebs I vacuumed up. ONE-SEVEN. I mean how long have we been gone? Cobwebs happen in haunted houses with dead bodies under the floorboards. Couple that with dog hair summer shedding. You get the picture. Picking out the hair from the vacuum bristles almost sent me to the place of no return.
I won't blame you if you just gagged. In fact, I probably gagged enough for every single person who will read this. Translation: this should never happen when you're vacuuming your own house. Be more diligent about cleaning the floors. Point taken. Exterminator called.
And then One's all like "let me bark and try to eat the vacuum while your trying to clean up my hair." Perfect. Thanks pup.
The Dismukes are happy to be HOME!