As I type this, there is a lovely island breeze blowing through our room, and I am sitting in a chair in a swimsuit. It is a balmy 85 degrees, and the humidity is about 80%.
I am in paradise.
Hubs and I are in Hawaii for a friend's wedding. We have been climbing volcanos, going to the beach, and doing crazy things like snorkeling and body boarding, all at like 7:30am thanks to jet lag. It has been wonderful.
But you know what? I miss my kids. Bad. Super bad. Sam gave us 2 of his beloved dinosaurs to take with us on our trip, so we've been snapping shots of the Dino Dudes at various tourist spots on the island. They go with us everywhere--our friends even let the Dino's take wedding pictures with them, and atop their wedding cake.
The "flat Stanley"-esque photos are serving 2 purposes...first, they show Sam all of the experiences that we've had. Secondly, they keep me always thinking of the kiddos, but also being able to enjoy an adult only vacation. Facebook has been blowing up with our Dino Dude travels.
Paradise has been wonderful, but I am realizing that even Hawaii has it's drawbacks if I can't come home every night to my sweet children. I'm certain that by the end of this adventure, we will be happier than ever to come home to our freezing cold, relatively inexpensive Midwestern city. With two well traveled Dinosaurs.