The hardest part of a vacation? Leaving.

Last Friday morning we said goodbye to our boys and headed off to the airport. It was one of the hardest things we ever did.

My oldest already suspected we were going away when the suitcases came out. He cautiously circled them, sniffed at them, and then flopped to the floor with a big sigh. He knew...the last time the suitcases were out he and his brother lived with our cousin who owned their mother.

For two days before we left, he would not allow me to pat him nor would he come and cuddle with me. He would come to where I was, sit exactly a foot away with his back to me, and sigh. His brother knew something was up but hadn't quite figured it out. But, of course, in true brotherly style, Rocki would provide moral support by sighing as well, although he wasn't quite sure why he was doing it.

On the morning we left, Bruiser was very upset. He would run in front of us, drop to the floor and sigh. No matter where we went, he was one step ahead of us. It broke my heart but we had recruited my mother-in-law and nephew, who the boys adore, to stay at the house with them and dog-sit. We figured this would be a good solution to their loneliness...they knew my mother-in-law and nephew and they were in their own home with all the beds, toys and scents they were familiar with. But I guess it wasn't enough.

On Sunday, my mother-in-law called us and said that the boys posted themselves at the garage door (the one we left from) and sat and waited. By afternoon, she said Rocki and Bruiser were crying. She told us they didn't eat or drink for two days. Finally, on Sunday morning, they ate a bit and started to come to life. By Monday, it seems they were pretty much back to normal, running in and out of the house, eating, and chasing each other around. Finally, I can relax and enjoy my vacation!