Ah, all of those enjoyable and delightful tasks that no one ever really warned you about when telling you just how much more love would permeate our home once we brought our beautiful child into this beautiful world.

Granted, our daughter has brought forth an unending stream of love and silliness and joy and laughter and now seems completely prepared for teenagehood, as a kindergartner.

But I don’t recall the warnings about vomit cleanup (or any other excreted substances, for that matter).

I mean, folks were quick to point out that I would be tired all the time and feel sick a lot; true, true. But this vomit-cleanup thing, don’t recall it.

And I’m talking about that chunky, healthy, too-big-for-the-drain puke. The real stuff. I’m talking about needing to double-wash the clothes and the sheets and the stuffed animal and blankie she won’t sleep without (that has retained that vomit odor a full 48 hours after the fact). Please do excuse my slightly graphic writings, but I really wanted you to get some “local color” as they say in comparative literature courses.

So at what point do we - the parents - get the deserved appreciation or payback; ever?

Not that I want a ticker tape parade, but will we ever feel that the endless nights we stay awake, and the butt-wiping and cooking and cleaning and overall devotion to their well-being; is the sheer joy of parenthood just so darn immense that we do all of this because our little ones are just so precious that it’s *worth* it?

Yeah, it probably is.

What is worse than the day you go back to the office after an 8-day vacation?

Seriously, can you come up with anything?

The overloaded inbox, the caffeine rush (from the six pre-office coffees that I downed), the “how was your trip” conversations, the catch-up on office gossip, the missed meetings, the missed calls, the eighteen voicemails to delete (who talks on the phone anymore anyway?), and the disapproving looks from co-workers to whom you did not return with a gift (I brought a few “close” colleagues some dark chocolate and had to hide the fact from others).

Not to mention the return to the ghastly food court, the “gray” (literal and metaphorical) cubicle, the need to not eat because I just spent 8 days eating and not exercising, the recurring thoughts that your colleagues have rummaged through the personal effects on your desk, and the return to the desk where you forgot to get rid of endless papers that now crowd your computer and your mental productivity space.

Sigh.

Time for a lunch break; maybe I’ll go get some $6 Chinese in one of those non-eco-friendly styrofoam containers that always has sauce sneaking out of the cracks and inevitably gets all over your hand.

Did I mention that I need a post-vacation vacation?

I hate to brag (really), but I just loaded the dishwasher with more dishes than I could count.

And not just the regular dishes, I’m talkin about mixing bowls, spatulas, tongs, different-sized plates, and all kinds of glassware. It was a work of art.

Guess what else?

I can sort the recycling into metal/glass and paper, bagged and into the green box in under 7 minutes.

You want an onion diced? A knife sharpened? A can of corn opened (but without the top actually detached from the base)?

Done, done, and done.

Basically, I can look at a sink full of dirty dishes, food scraps, All-Clad pots, and silverware, and know exactly the most optimal order in which to wash them/load the dishwasher. Can you?

Unfortunately, I don’t have a secret to offer you, or to share with your husbands. It’s a skill that I have developed over the years.

Of course, back in our first New York apartments we didn’t even have a dishwasher, so it was all about speed-washing. Now I guess I’m spoiled. (Hint: always use powder-based detergent, not the liquid - I prefer Cascade Complete). I also recommend Method’s Granite cleaner, and Swiffer Wet for the kitchen floor.

All of this to say: since my cooking skills only extend to following recipes, I have been forced to perfect my kitchen-cleaning skillset.

Who cleans your kitchen?

So we’re up in the White Mountain area of New Hampshire, fulfilling the year-long desire of our daughter to visit Storyland (for those of you who don’t live in New England, it’s basically a small-fry amusement park replete with a variety of scenes from classic fairy tales - Humpty Dumpty, The Old Lady in the Shoe, etc.).

Basically, if you have a child above 36 inches tall, you must visit.

We spent the day in the park with our friends, seeking out the thrills (my favorite was the “Polar Coaster“) and trying to stay in the shade; we came home, hit the pool in the July sun, and I was thinking that this was a nice little summer weekend “kid vaca.”

As we had dinner at a local restaurant, we ended up talking about vacations and how frequently we’ve been able to go - with/without, pre/post kids.

Morale: Boy, travel was so much easier pre-offspring.

So, tell me: what are your summer plans and when was your last REAL vaca?