We are having holiday hangover after two weeks in San Diego with my family. After two weeks of fabulous sunshine, football with the guys, and rolling around in a big kid/dog pile on the ground with my sister’s two-year-old, her two Bernese mountain dogs, and my parents’ dog, Elan is waking up in the dark, trying to get back to sleep and failing, and telling me he misses his cousin Judah.

Here’s what holiday hangover looks like in my house:

My house was clean when we arrived home, at 10:30 p.m. Monday night. My kids took care of that by 8 a.m. Tuesday morning.

Still-packed bags litter the living room floor. I am slowly tackling them. I wish a genie would come and put everything away. The genie could clean out my closet while she’s at it. And cook dinner.

I think the toys were procreating while we were gone.

I’m glad to be home, and I’m looking forward to getting back into a routine, I just don’t remember exactly how to do it.

I have a head cold and I’m turning 36 tomorrow. Tomorrow! This year, my birthday feels like it’s coming at the tail end of celebration. Like, do we really have to celebrate one more thing? What an awful way to feel about your birthday! Can you tell I am not feeling particularly inspired about turning 36?

And Elan’s tonsillectomy is in one week and one day. I’m just a wee bit anxious about that.

At least we have the memory of sand castles.

And sand in the pockets of every pair of little-boy pants, to prove we were there, not too long ago.