Home sweet Home

We made it home from our FANTASTIC vacation in the Dominican Republic last Friday morning, around 3:30 am. The rest of our weekend/week was spent doing laundry, doing more laundry, did I mention laundry? And recovering. And paying bills. And remembering what it's like to get back to our reality.  As the vacation week ended, Christian developed what we called the "end of vacation blues." I really can't blame him! It's hard to go from this:

to this: 

Since I received my passport 2 days before our departure and was officially allowed to leave the country. I finally allowed myself to pack. In fact,  I was so excited hold the passport in hand (no matter how bad the picture was) I actually packed Monday night for a Wednesday flight.

When you go to a different country, you're automatically prepared for it to be different even if you don't really know how to prepare. My dad handles this by loading his carry-on with every electronic cord imaginable (just in case), his lap top, neosporin, hydrocortizone cream, three different pairs of sunglasses, books, magazines, band-aids, and a full mini-bar (just kidding). My carry-on had four books, literally.

We stepped off the plane already in slight culture shock, but happily surprised. How cute is this airport?! P.S. notice dad's heavily laden backpack, it's like he's a pack mule.

We were so charmed by the sweet thatched roof, and the lush greenery that when we walked inside we immediately were re-culture shocked by 'island pace' which means lines and lines of people all wanting to go to the same place in a hurry:

You can't tell by this picture, but my dad's head is on a swivel trying to figure it all out. 

See what I mean about the lines?

We did finally make it to our magnificent resort. 

Whenever I was a little girl, and we would go to a home improvement store like Home Depot, where they had fake kitchens or fake bathrooms on display, or go to a model home, set-up with furniture so you could see what your future home might look like, I always pretended it was actually my home. I'd say things like: "Well! What are all these people doing in my house!?" and then proceed to pull an imaginary cup out of an imaginary cupboard to serve my guests (who were probably like: "Get out of the way little girl, we're trying to see the depth of this cabinet!). 

Let's be honest, we were in IKEA a couple years ago, and I was still doing this. My point being, the hotel ended up being my imaginary house for the week-and-a-half:

 

"Hey guys! Ya, just go over and talk to my servants, they'll tell you which room is yours....."

 

Please enjoy this porch swing located in my hallway, and please notice my fancy plants I had planted last Spring- the gardner is doing such a wonderful job!

 

Your room is that way, brothers! Yes, continue down the walk-way there and you'll run right into it. No, no, don't thank me! Family is always welcome.

See what I mean? I'm a weirdo. 

However, I soon realized I wasn't alone in my weirdness....

As we got more settled into the resort (my home) that first day.....

I discovered my family was making it there home too, but in different ways: 

Mom found a comfy couch to lean back, kick up her feet, drink an adult beverage and take pictures.

Christian claimed the place as his own by drinking the contents of a coconut he found while relaxing in this little hut right outside our door (he would later sleep here-twice). 

Chris and Andrew have their own way of their own way of making a hotel their own...

...and that is stripping down to shorts and the resort provided robe. 

I'm sure you're not surprised, but this is not the first picture I have of them in various hotel robes...

After we all felt we had sufficiently gotten comfortable in our new place, we got together in one of the comfortable cabanas in the lobby. Why here? Well, isn't that obvious?

So we could greet new guests and say.....

WELCOME TO OUR NEW HOME!