I’m writing today’s post from the comfort of a crowded, loud room in which the children are happily watching hours and hours of cartoons. My temperamental laptop is shoved among a pile of food I just spent two hours shopping for. I keep getting interrupted every 30 seconds to break up a fight or acknowledge a, “Hey, Mom! Look at that!”
We’re on vacation.
Well, some of us are.
I heard, once, that a family vacation is never a vacation for the parents. Frankly, while I’m in The Mom Years, no vacation is a vacation for me. I know because my husband and I saved up a lot of money and went on one of those romantic island vacations this year, and I still followed my usual routine.
You know what routine I’m talking about.
Pre-Vacation: Pack, pack, pack, plan, plan, plan, CLEAN. None of those steps involve actually packing my things nor planning activities just for me.
Day 1: Driving or flying. This means no sleep, sore muscles, and extra fat from all the car snacks. On top of that, the kids all fall asleep and then wake up completely wired.
Day 2 or 4 or 22: Attempting to do all sorts of fun activities so that memories are made and families are bonded and our bank account is left gasping on the shore.
All the Days: At least one child or spouse has a meltdown over all the bonding and activities.
At Least Once Every Three Days: Mom has a sobbing meltdown and determines to take a vacation with only herself.
I don’t know about other moms, but even that resolution doesn’t work for me. The few times I’ve had a few hours completely to myself, I’ve spent them thinking, Child A would just love this store. Then I buy things for the little monsters. Or I mentally plan how they could all come along to that place and have memories, bonding, and money-spending fun together with me.
Guess I’ll never learn.
Now it’s time for lunch.
Aaand I forgot to buy ketchup.