Home.

The fourth of July is my favorite holiday, and we landed at JFK in time to race home, change out of our bonfire-worthy travel clothes, and race to the Ryans' to celebrate properly. By which I mean barbecue, beer, swimming in pool water of dubious cleanliness, and waving around illicit sparklers. 

Since then, I've been saving up all my best stories and memories from our almost-two idyllic weeks in Europe to share here. Like the fact that Finley was over the moon about her "chateau," still thanks everyone with "merci," and told her teacher at school that her trip was "magical." No kidding.

Or that Belgian beer is even better in Belgium. (And, as pictured here, in France.)

Or that F+F carried on the family tradition. ("We like hiking, Ford. Now give me your hand.")

And are really incredible travelers (the return flight forever seared in our memories as a glaring exception) and consummate tourists. (Here, listening intently to their audio "version enfant" at the Bayeux tapestry museum.)

Or that the legend of "Seth Nieman, who never met a tourist trap he didn't like" continues (at the beach in Calais.)

Or that Finley picked up on French fashion and began demanding to wear scarves. (I can't get over how grown-up she looked, pulling her own suitcase down the Rue Notre Dame.)

Or how we discovered that European playgrounds are better (here, in Dover);

gondola rides are not as kitschy as they sound (in Brugge);

Belgian waffles are best consumed on plastic plates while sitting on church steps and listening to accordion music;

nowhere is too scenic for a good temper tantrum (Port-en-Bessin and Brugge, respectively);

Belgian frites are fried not once but twice, and taste even better with a view of the carriage horses in the square (smell notwithstanding, to Finley anyway);

the Nieman men will, in fact, go all the way to jolly ol' England to find somewhere to gamble (here, at a casino in Dover);

and baguettes are meant to be enjoyed fresh. While still in the bag. Literally, just outside the bakery.

But after an entire day spent doing piles of vacation laundry and frantic grocery shopping and trying to get everybody un-jetlagged and back into some semblance of a routine, followed by a half-week of playing catch up at work that brought us to our knees, it's all I can do to guzzle cold medicine (thank you, airplane air) and halfheartedly sift through mail and daycare notifications while everybody else sleeps. So instead I offer: more than 300 photos. The uncut, unedited version (because who are we kidding? my days of captioning photos are over.)

We had a "magical" time in Europe, but are happy to be back on U.S. soil in time to say: "happy birthday, 'murica!" With sparklers, of course.