We’ll be leaving for “vacation” shortly. If I’d said that aloud, I would have absolutely wiggled my fingers to indicate air quotes. That’s because I keep arguing with Bryan about this not being a real vacation for me. Don’t get me wrong. It should be fun. We’re going to his 20-year high school reunion (yeah, he’s old like that), and then spending a week at a condo in Gulf Shores. A week of lounging around at the pool or beach and eating out for every meal (I’m trying not to dwell on how much this will cost).
Anywho, it’s still not a vacation for me. I’ll still have to ensure that the kids are fed, clothed and bathed. Bryan said something about not packing a whole lot because the condo has a washer and dryer; so apparently I’ll still have to do laundry. The only thing I won’t be doing is taking care of the animals (which I’m already in worry mode over because I’m quite certain that one of our goats is going to have her babies while we’re gone!). Alright, I know I’m being whiny.
Yesterday was a rough day for me, being the umpteenth day home with the kids for the summer. Apparently going to the pool isn’t enough to make me the cool mom, and I lose any cred I have when I then tell them to clean their rooms. So today, while the almost 4 year old was at daycare, I hid in my bedroom from the 10- and 8-year olds … wait for it … all. day. Really. I only ventured out a few times for something to drink/eat and to make sure no one was playing with matches. Yep. I’m mother of the year material. I just couldn’t bare the idea of hearing “What are we going to do today?” one more time, particularly since I don’t much feel like taking over the world. (Bonus points if you know what that’s a reference to.) At the risk of sounding like a real b%&!#, I really do love them, I just like alone time too and haven’t gotten all that much of it lately. It’s making me cranky.
There’s no doubt that now that the Girl (the sensitive one) knows I was hiding (because she overheard me say it to dad) that her feelings are hurt. I should probably apologize and say I didn’t really mean it, right? Or, here’s a thought, I could just chalk it up to another thing she’ll need therapy for and move on. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.
I’d just really like a little time to myself, you know where I didn’t have to do a bunch of stuff for everybody else, where I could just be responsible for myself and no one else. So maybe a few days in solitary? Well, Morgan, Morgan, Morgan! could come, but that’s only because she feeds herself.
Alright, I’m done whining (for now). I promise my next post will be all rainbows and unicorns and illustrate how truly blessed I am. Oh great, something else to do.