#16 Back to school, back to work
How many suitcases do we need? And backpacks? And random stuff?... Yeah, all of it.
My summer holiday is finally over. The kids are back at school, and I am gradually recovering my energy to face the screen and battle the keyboard. I left the house a month ago with two teenagers, a little boy, five suitcases, four backpacks, and a seat booster. I'm surprised no one asked us in the airport if we were moving to another country. When I arrived at my mother's place in Spain, she asked me why I needed so much stuff since she had seen a man traveling around the world just carrying a backpack and a little dog. I told her I would gladly exchange the dog for my three children and watch the show, but she did not appreciate the comment and changed the topic to how much weight I had gained since she had last seen me—typical stuff.
The first week was my Spanish version of the Groundhog Day movie with Bill Murray, but instead of being a weatherman, I am a mother of three who decided to throw her career over the window to become a writer and repeats the same holiday in the company of her mother. Someone should make a movie about it: me, my mother and children going to the supermarket in the morning and the swimming pool in the afternoon... every day, in a never-ending loop of discussions about what we are going to buy for the snack and the types of sunscreens I should be using. The complaints from my mother about the high temperatures and the days spent in the motherland (mine, not my children's) would make adults laugh and cry. The desperation of children who are used to a more active life would make the younger generation roll their eyes at the screen, as my daughter does every time I ask her why she laughs so much about the last meme she received from a friend. The week was painfully slowly gone, and the day to leave for a fresher and calmer land arrived because I love my mother dearly, but our relationship requires patience and carefully measured dosages. I decided to take a holiday in the middle of the holiday and visit my friends in Portugal for five days to gain energy, even if it meant driving an enormous amount of kilometers and arranging non-stop children's entertainment.
We went to the beach for five days, which is an epic fact considering my low tolerance to sand and sun. The kids had suf lessons every day, and I had two hours of combat with a board and the water and a follow-up day where I promised myself I would never do such harm to my body again. I did not cook any single meal and enjoyed the company of old friends and their children. My kids went through the awkward situation of being forced to speak with adults and children they weren't used to, and when we were on our own, we visited museums, watched movies, and chilled because that's what you are supposed to do during the holiday: chill.
I packed again, drove to Spain, and spent five more days in my mother's house, repeating our Groundhog Day routines, this time interrupted by the Olympics. I will always remember the Opening ceremony because I sweated through it as if I were training for the 100 meters while my mother tried to convince me about the negative impact of air conditioners and the inefficacy of fans.
"Fans only move the hot air around," she said while we bathed in our sweat.
I've resigned myself after many years. Sometimes, it is better to keep my mouth shut...
Once more, I packed and left. I went to the airport to meet my dear partner and his family this time. My mother-in-law lives on an island, and my travel record is less than optimal. My flights have been consistently delayed and canceled throughout the years, and once, even the operating company went bankrupt. My family runs a poll every time I fly there, trying to guess what will happen next, so it was a surprise for all of us when my travels connected perfectly, no suitcase was lost or damaged, and I arrived home just in time. Unfortunately, after our days on the island, I paid for all my sins with a massive delay due to adverse weather conditions, a two-day layover in a city amidst a hot wave, and an arrival home a few hours before the start of the school year.
On Sunday, when I finally returned home, I looked at the washing machine, like in those Western movies where the good and the bad guy look at each other before drawing their pistols. I, instead, had seven suitcases to unpack and a tremendous resolution to get the laundry done as soon as possible. The washing took me three days, and the folding and ironing might never finish, but somehow, the sense of normality is coming back to me, and the holiday feeling is long gone as if I had returned four months ago instead of last week. After four days, I can finally fill my hours writing and reading, and the house is silent because the kids are at school. Sweet silence... how I've missed you.
