My tolerance level for being away from home is about five days. After that I start to get antsy. I miss my bed and my clean laundry and my routine. I simply was not made to be a world traveller, unless I can some day buy an apartment on that ship that travels the world constantly. To me that is an ideal way to go - you can take your routine and home with you, no packing and unpacking required.
Campbell was a wreck this morning, clinging to me and fussing while I was trying to eat breakfast and read the paper. Bribing him with bacon and donut holes had no effect on his mood. In desperation, I plopped him on the sofa with his milk cup, his water cup, his lovie, his Pigeon, and his blanket and turned on Sesame Street, and suddenly all was right in the world. He just needed his morning routine.
Fortunately, we go home tomorrow and he and I can settle back into our boring little
But I can report progress on Campbell and the beach. I took him down for half an hour yesterday afternoon, and he sat on the blanket with me and watched the birds fly around. Later in the day, B convinced Campbell to walk down to find us. Campbell got so involved in watching the big kids dig holes and build sand castles that he forgot to be miserable for about half an hour. It all came to an end when one of the big kids accidentally dumped a shovel full of sand on his foot. But we still view it as step in the right direction. Perhaps today we'll get him to actually dig in the sand. Getting him in the water seems too much to ask.