How Fancies Overcome Jet Lag

The worst part of a holiday is always the return home, isn’t it? No matter how restful a vacation you’ve had, there is no exhaustion as great as that which slaps you in the face the minute you walk back through the front door of your home. The Fancies aren’t any different when it comes to jet lag and needing a holiday after a holiday. But how we deal with it, is one of those little perks that makes Fancy fabulous. So fabulous, in fact, that I'm a little embarrassed. 

H was as good as he could be on the trip home, even offering to watch one child while I changed the other’s nappies. I did feel slightly bad for him, watching him battle his delicate tummy that was roaring after a week of American food, timing his sips of coke with the bathroom lights and seatbelt signs. If that weren’t enough, the knowledge that 24 hours after we returned home, he’d be getting on another 9 hour flight continuing eastward, destroying any sense of night and day, made me feel even less annoyed than I might on another occasion. (This is how much progress I’ve made with Fancy Therapist. Aren’t you impressed?)

Anyway, we made it. Through passport control and customs, luggage in tow. 15 minutes from our house, I made the call.

“15 minutes and closing.”

Ten minutes to arrival, I sent the text.

“Still on course. 10 minutes out.”

300 seconds before touchdown, the final message: “Meet me outside.”

We pulled up and the rest unfolded like a beautiful, well-choreographed ballet. The Minis were paraded down the hall in their pram, both utterly knackered but no doubt just resting up for a night of screaming refusals toward sleep. H grabbed his workbag and headed directly to bed. I brought our bags in, checked the mail and turned on the heater.

Then came the unpacking: I carried the luggage upstairs to the living room and laid it out neatly, to make it easier for the housekeeper to deal with in the morning.

I opened a bottle of wine.

I heated up a shower.

I flipped on the telly.

“See you Monday!” I hollered downstairs to Babysitter #1. “Nanny 2 gets here at 8. She knows what they’ll have for breakfast. Doubt I’ll be up then. Thanks a gazillion!”