Post-vacation hangover

It's hard to come back from vacation. Just the fact that I didn't have to wake up to an alarm for seven days is blissful enough, but add in laying on the beach all day, spending time with my family, shouting over board games, pigging out on seafood, and more, and it's really, really hard to come back to work, even if it's a job you like. 

Going to Panama City Beach for vacation has been a tradition since before I was born. My mom's family made many trips there when she was young, and I've been going since I was 10 months old. There are many tales of the time I cut four teeth in one week, how my uncle had to carry my potty seat up multiple flights of stairs because the elevators were out of order, and that one time Mom got the really weird, really bad sunburn. 

My summers are made of beach memories, and this year was no different. From the kid at Krispie Kreme and "na'kins," Mom's new friend in Dollar General, Courtney's sun poisoning, Scott's love of Trace Atkins rubbing of on everyone else, Dad asking if Scott had ever been in a fight, waiting two and a half hours to eat at Boondocks, Mom and Scott's oysterpalooza, lots of laughs during Cranium, Balderdash and Wise or Otherwise, fudgesticks and toffee ice cream bars, and a lot more. I'm really sad we didn't get the airbrushed T-shirts with this year's theme on them — "PCB, 2011: Makin' Memories." There's always next year, though!

Clockwise from the top: Photo op while waiting for dinner with my mom, sister and dad; sunset on the bay; Scott and I looking a little pinker; an old shrimp boat