Sometimes you want to go where not a person knows your name, duh duh duh duh

Well the sand is gone (mostly) as is the sugar high. And I’ve got to admit I’m pretty sad about it.

You see the Husband and I indulged ourselves with a vacation to Hawaii sans offspring, so we could fully celebrate the fact that we have navigated thirty years of life so far, which is no small feat, considering we were children and victims of the 80s.

Need I say more?

This is definitely not a normal thing for us. Jet setters we are not. Homebodies we usually are. But somehow the stars aligned, the ducks lined up, the heavens smiled upon us and it all worked out (i.e. found cheap tickets, no one was sick, willing grandparents, abnormally successful convincing of the Husband). Put those all together and you’ve got a vacation just in time because the day before we left I was a few steps away from kid-induced insanity. Seriously.

So this trip was a little miracle actually. And now that I look back on it in reverence and awe I’m even more convinced that it was a miracle in my own little sphere. Praises be, hallelujah and all that other stuff. And how about a booyah! as well.

This is not to say I didn’t feel intense guilt in my mother heart. Oh I had tons of that. I haven’t left these children of mine for longer than a day trip so I was feeling pretty bad about myself when we landed in Hawaii. But then I saw this:

and I suppressed that guilt post haste, knowing Bosco and Bubba were in the capable care of grandparentals. And I and the Husband, quite frankly, deserved this time out.

And the vacation that followed was pretty much full of awesome. I’m not saying that to foster jealousy in your heart. That would be most rude of me. No, I only state the supreme greatness of my trip so you can understand the depths of the homesickness I now feel for a place that isn’t even my home. Turns out that IS possible.

For as we returned home to our usual programming, the weather outside was indeed an insult to Hawaii’s existence. And instead of grillin’ up some shrimp (cuz I love myself a good grill probably even more than the Husband does, believe it!) it felt more appropriate to make some freaking soup. SOUP!

And the scent of coconut, pineapple, and plumeria no longer lingered in the air. Instead there were wafts of poop and pee and various other kid smells.

And I have to make my own dinner! Gah!

Forget about flip flops. That would just be self-inflicted murder of precious piggies.

So in case you couldn’t tell I’m slightly in mourning. Just slightly. So while I throw myself a pity party (don’t worry, no one but me is invited) here are a few pictures. I shall return next week with stories. Oh the stories! And numerous pictures of island plant life. Kidding (about the plant pictures anyway)! Although I’m sure some of you would find that riveting . . .

{We look cute. Uh huh.}

{Big ol' tree thing}

{I don't know what's funnier, the fact that I'm posting this picture or the fact that I took this picture at all.} 

{Does this beach look familiar to anyone? First person to guess correctly wins a buttsmack or a high five. Your choice.}

{Turtles are awesome! You already knew that though.}

{So purdy I could cry.}

Clarification: The Husband was worried some of you would think he was the one wearing the speedo. Please be aware this is NOT the Husband's butt. This is another man's butt. Probably European I'm guessing from the looks of it.