Returning from a short holiday you learn to appreciate how much work is actually involved in keeping a house from being taken over by the Fairy Princess monarchy that still holds a very vocal minority government.

You take for granted that everything moves along as it should, following some semblance of order and routine unlike when you are away and do foolish things like watch the 9:00pm screening of Hangover 2 as opposed to the 6:55pm like responsible parents would.

You eat meals at 8pm as opposed to banging your fork on the table at 4:59pm alongside the kids, prompting Daddy to take a break from work and sit down with his family for a late lunch meal.

You spritz on some sunscreen but you’re not a fanatic about it and you certainly don’t re-apply, you’re on vacation! You throw caution to the wind and leave your hat in the clearly marked hat drawer, exposing your scalp to some dangerous, unforgiving rays.

You drink a ruby red with tonic poolside mid-afternoon and don’t even think about having to drive anyone to swimming lessons. It’s just you, some fresh lime and a pool noodle.

Then you walk in the door and little people who seem to evoke more power than all of the adults combined within 100 miles (excepting of course the staff at an airline that is anything but Direct) start waving pages of colourful drawings, flapping craft projects in various stages of completion and shouting something about being thirsty (for juice water, not ruby red vodka), wanting a snack, needing a Band-Aid, wanting a hug, needing to find a missing rogue bead from a homemade bracelet and you wonder how you stayed on top of these details in such a militant fashion before you left for 72 hours.

Some things will be different when you get home. For example, you might find your baby napping naked simulating some sort of potential Dr. Seuss crime scene. Her diaper is wet and appears to be rolled in a ball but still in the crib. Did she pee, decide she didn’t like the feeling of a wet diaper and roll the soiled Huggies the way she’d seen me at least four million times and her Dad (a generous)seven times in which case potty training here we come! Or is she like a territorial cat playing games with our minds as punishment for leaving? How she removed her dress is anyone’s guess and Hand Hand Fingers Thumb a favourite text that had been missing for 24 hours has suddenly reappeared next to the sleeping, naked baby’s head. We might enlist the help of some junior CSI’s for this one. Do the Mini-Pops make house calls?

My five year old said she wanted to wear her t-shirt “overneath” her dress. Is she trying to mess with me or is this kid about to take the fashion world by storm?

These changes have a broader reach than just at our home. My parents who babysat said when they returned home their kettle wouldn’t work. This can only be from neglect. It was used to being plugged in from the moment they woke until the moment they fell asleep at night. The poor thing died from failure to perform.