I always feel a little extra stress on our final day of a family vacation.
The same shoes that were kicked off full of sand a week ago with huge laughs are now being tossed angrily out the door with a, “Who kicks their sandy shoes all over the floor? What are we animals?”
I try not to let the kids know I’m on edge. Nervous about the flight, the clean-up, worrying about leaving behind a favourite toy, or blanket or Hanna’s latest animal print lace sleeves.
Chloe senses something is different and starts acting out, more than usual.
She hits her sister in the face and while I would normally tell Hanna how she could better duck or defend herself from such actions, I become increasingly angry at the three year old.
I start my routine of making beds, cleaning bathrooms so we leave the place looking less sandy than the first day we kicked off our shoes and assign Greg the task of sweeping the main floor.
When I finsh washing all of the sheets, duvet covers, making the beds and scrubbing bathrooms, I ask Greg if he’s eager for another job.
“No, I’m just checking my email.”
Oh.
I enter the newly “swept” room but I’m unsure if there is more or less sand than that first day and when I ask Greg if he moved any furniture out of the way he says, “I did but you’d be surprised how dust can really move around.”

Plan B–Greg takes the kids outside while I work on the final round-up.
Minutes later, I’m “re-sweeping” the floor, I hear a knock at the door.
It’s my six year old handing me a box so I can collect the recycling and she would like to deposit it all into the bigger bin.

Ellie: Also, it gives me an excuse to come back for a Mommy-hug.

Huh. Kids.

Who knew?