When Mom Goes On Vacation

mom vacation

Not every mother gets to go on vacation. And by vacation, I mean being away from your home city at a radius of no less than 100 miles with no kids. If you go to Hawaii, but you go with your kids, you’re just working on location. There is nothing about that trip that will be a vacation for you or your husband.

What is this gross food? I’m not eating it. Can I just have peanut butter? Do they have regular burgers? Do they have chicken fingers? There is nasty stuff on my broccoli.

I’m tired.

I’m not tired.

When are we going home? Is it that long airplane ride, AGAIN?

Can I sleep with you?

I’m hot.

I’m cold.

I’m bored.

I’m an ungrateful brat and you should have just taken me to Gatlinburg. (Oh, I’m sorry. Sometimes I accidentally put the words in their mouths I think they are actually saying).

Happy f*ing vacation, mom and dad! We don’t appreciate any of it!

 

So…what about when mom and dad get a REAL vacation?

You plan the trip months in advance because you have to get someone (hello grandparents) to come stay at your house for a few days.  Check.

Book airfare. Check.

Book hotel. Check.

Buy tickets to raunchy comedy show and feel exuberant about the prospect of being in a big room with no kids where someone on stage is talking about sex, drugs, and swear words without spelling anything, whispering, or looking around in a panic because something slipped. Check.

Also, you can carry a tiny little purse with a lipstick in it because you don’t have to worry about anyone else’s shit. Vacation, indeed.

I’M SO FREAKING EXCITED.

Then…you’re one week out.

Oh shit, I need to write out instructions for the grandparents. I’ll have to tell them what to pack for lunches and how to do drop off and pick up. Should I draw a map?

Well crap, there’s a soccer game that Saturday, maybe they can just skip it?

I hope they don’t get sad when it’s time to go to bed.

This is the first time we have flown without the kids, we must get our Last Will and Testament done before we leave in case we both die in a fiery plane crash.

I have to wash everything in the house, clean the toilets, and get all that shit to Goodwill before we go because oh my God, someone might need that 20-year old chair from the basement before next Monday.

I need to write notes to school so they know we are gone. No, I don’t need to do that. Yes, I do. No, probably not.

Oh shit, what am I going to wear?  I can’t walk around in ratty jeans all week. Must go shopping.

I will have to go to the grocery store and buy stuff to make 25 meals that no one will eat because they will eat pancakes and McDonald’s every day instead.

 

The morning of…

There’s some spaghetti from Monday in the fridge, I’m sure they can eat that and then just go out one night… or three.

They probably have enough clean clothes, but we’ll just let grandpa figure that out. Surely he can work a washing machine.

I’ll text drop off and pick up instructions from the airport.

Do I have cash for booze on the plane?

Where are my slutty red boots?

I’m sure everything will be fine. Right?

Oh gosh, I’m going to miss them.

I should have cooked a few dinners.

Ah, it will be fine.

Oh shit, we’re late! How am I always late?

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

Oh my gosh, they are the sweetest and I love them so much. How will I make it through three days?

Woo hoo!  We’re in the car!  Where’s my flask?

 

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