IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:Holidays over, summer ended, back to the grind - it's a hard life back home, writes Adam Brophy
THE KIDS go back to school, and you figure that's the end of summer. But the season doesn't end with a physical reality, it drags out with mental acclimatisation.
A few weeks in the States has enabled the return of my pillow belly. All those cheese steaks, cheese soups, cheese fries, cheese fruit cups (not really, but coming soon I'm sure) are floating like not so puffy clouds around my midriff.
They're complaining about fuel prices over there, prices that are still size 6 in fashion terms compared with ours. One idea would be to stop using their cars to get from the kitchen to the bathroom. Try walking, people. I also seem to be wearing more face than when I left - glutinous extra cheek space with no discernible use.
You drag your carcass through the airport security system and US immigration. You cope with being made to feel responsible for the world's woes for daring to seek temporary repose in their lactose-tolerant culture. You apologise for your less-great-than-Michael-Phelps-being and beg entry.
It's only when you return that you realise their X-ray machines should bear the Monopoly warning that you collect pounds when you pass Go.
Still, America with the family is like a prolonged theme park ride. It's a country designed for pleasure, constantly encouraging you to consider your next thrill, provided you can hold on to your snack and tasty beverage while negotiating it.
The comfort-seeking synapses in your brain are not permitted to stop firing during waking moments, leaving you to face the demons in your sleep.
Maybe that's why I'm dealing with a comedown right now. That or the abrupt reduction of sugar in my diet.
There's a heightened sense of distinction between this week and last. Going back to school marks the transition and masks its onset for a day or two, but soon the reality that the trudge is back on seeps into your bones. The four of us are now reacquainting ourselves with creche/school/work, the falling grey sky and the lack of a government department to ensure we wish everyone we meet "a great day" so long as we keep working to drive the machine.
Ireland feels near revolutionary in the autumn after the sunny, smiley States. You can feel someone out there preparing to shoplift a loaf of bread or fiddle their taxes. You know the nation is willing to defy the weather and the economy by being at least a little bit bad. And smiling inwardly about it.
The kids struggle with the transition initially. And that's mainly to do with the change of season, rather than country. They don't go to bed wondering aloud at what they're going to do tomorrow, they know full well what's happening the next day. Pretty much the same thing that happened that day. With a little more rain thrown in for good measure.
We can cope with the re-settle, we've suffered it many times before, but for them it's like having the box of popcorn and jumbo slushy snatched from their paws, replaced with a steady trickle of porridge. And the occasional digestive biscuit.
But kids burn brighter than us. Their anger at the change in hue of the outdoor palette is short lived, they don't even rail against it. They may query where the excitement has gone, shout that the day is no longer designed to appease their every whim, but then something distracts them, like a puppy, or a spider's web, and they forget they were ever away or that anything was ever different.
We harbour our resentments, noting all the time how hard we have to run to empty our wallets into the banks, the supermarkets, childcare and education, before we begin to consider enjoying ourselves. We acknowledge that it's all necessary, but we question the quality in return, particularly when we've had a brief window where we have seen something else, maybe not better, but certainly more colourful than our traditional grey. We can push that feeling to the side, but it gnaws. It gnaws as we plan the next escape to distract us from the settling winter.
September always kicks me in the teeth like this. I try to ignore the pain, but each year it rises up stronger. I know it'll pass, but for these few weeks all I can think of are Pacific beaches and strong cocktails and it takes everything to bury my desire and accept the glamour of Dollymount and a pint.
The kids have already moved on from their holiday. They have no idea we spent our pension fund to take them away. They don't care because today they get to sing Happy Birthday to their granny. They live in the present.
abrophy@irish-times.ie