We’ve rented the same house the last six years we’ve gone. The memories start to all run together. This year the water levels were VERY high but we enjoyed the same public beaches my sister and I swam at as children.
We rode rollercoasters. Violet and Abram braved this 150 swing thing that scared me half to death. We played lots of mini-golf. I’m pretty sure there was one day where we had ice cream for every meal. We created a short playlist of songs that involved rolling the windows down and turning the volume way, way up.
This year felt so bittersweet to me. It’s home. But not home. And while I’m grateful to return to my own bed and my own things, I miss this place the minute I leave it. It makes me wish I could live thousands of different lives and this one too. Does that make any sense? It’s the only way I know how to describe it.
