Things around here are starting to make me bonkers. I’m not sure why? It’s not as if anything has changed dramatically. . .Perhaps it was being stuck in the house for a few days while the asphalt practically melted outside in the record-breaking heat?
At any rate, I’m all kinds of annoyed. . .by things that need addressed in the house, by Mac’s whacked out getting up in the middle of the night inexplicably, by his incessant attempts to rip everything out of Daddy’s desk on a daily basis, by the endless cycles of dirty dishes and laundry. . .and by our upcoming vacation.
Yes. Vacation has me all in a snit.
Typically when we vacation, (which isn’t very often), we pick the most ridiculously priced hotel we can find. We avail ourselves to every amenity. There is no cooking, no cleaning, no making the bed (although sometimes I do straighten the sheets before housekeeping gets there). There is fancy coffee, late night room service, and mini-bars. And even the kid is treated like a little prince. I only have to ask and there are bell-boys at the ready, helping me drag around his gear, setting up a complimentary crib, partially emptying the mini-bar to accommodate his bottles and snacks.
But this time we’re trying something different. We’re going with Chris’ family to a destination that is a considerable drive away (with few options for alternative transport – like say a PLANE). And we’re not staying at a hotel. They’ve rented a house. A massive house – where you need to bring your own everything.
Do you know how much junk is necessary for a trip like this?!! The house isn’t kiddie-proofed, there are potential disasters lurking in every corner. Everyone is supposed to share the cooking and cleaning responsibilities.
I’m exhausted after just making the lists of crap we need! I mean the booze I’m going to require is going to take up half the backseat! I already cook and clean for three everyday. . .How is it a vacation to do the same for 13 or more?!
The thought of beach towels the other day nearly gave me an existential crisis. We don’t have beach towels. When we go to a pool or beach, towels are typically provided and since space is so limited in our house, it’s not something I keep lying around. But now we need them. To buy or not to buy? If I purchase them, I know come next January in a fit of spring cleaning, I’ll be sick of storing them so I’ll give them to the Goodwill. First world problems, I realize but still, GAH, it’s one more thing I would rather not have to consider while my kid is slamming his fingers in a massive wood desk drawer.
And the drive? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as hell about that. It’s probably a 7 hour drive. With a 14 month old. We talked about breaking it up with overnight stops at the half way points. But then we decided that we’d rather save our money for a proper stay somewhere fancy come fall bird migration. So we’re doing the drive straight through. . .unless of course I end up in a mental hospital somewhere around the 5 hour mark.
And then there’s the pressure, Chris’ family is so nice and they have been kindly insisting we stay longer than our planned 2 or 3 nights. It’s very kind of them. And I feel guilty about not wanting to stay longer. But I know my limits.
I don’t often stay with anyone – even my own family in a “common” area for more than 3 nights. There’s just too much activity, too many people, too much noise, too many personalities (specifically my own, which starts to morph into seething passive aggressive bitch with too many people around. I’m more of a loner.) The kid is going to be all cranked up, refusing to sleep properly, we’re going to be exhausted from travel and keeping a watch on his every move. It’s best to keep things short. . .so I can remain somewhat sweet.
So as I sit here wondering if that pain in my back is a bout of shingles erupting from all of this agonizing and bitching I’ve been doing over this “vacation,” I’ve decided I need to adjust my attitude.
This is not a vacation. This is a trip. We are taking a trip to visit with family. I shouldn’t have any expectations of room service or housekeeping or even relaxing. It’s something that Mac (won’t remember) but we’ll be able to show him photos one day. . .And when a debacle or 10 occurs, as they surely will, I’ve promised myself I’m going to laugh about it instead of being a bitter little bitch. . .
Please pray specifically for my Husband. As we all know, even my best made plans never pan out as expected. . .and because if I don’t see a red cockaded woodpecker on this trip, I’m going to lose all ability to manage my own expectations.