I got slightly panicky a few weeks ago when I pulled the kids' calendars from their school folders and remembered that they were off an entire week for Mardi Gras. I love my darlings. I really do. But I wasn't exactly looking forward to a week off with them at home.
I started googling where we could travel by car because airfare is so expensive for an entire family. Unfortunately, I'm not a great vehicle traveller. By about hour six, I really start considering just jumping from the vehicle. I'm basically an infant.
Before I knew it, I had booked airfare to the mountains of North Carolina for all of us. Honestly, I blame the Hot Mess. She's always going on about her vacations and how we should DO MORE not HAVE MORE, and it's true.
As soon as I pressed the buy tickets button, I had a mini panic attack. What if we ended up like that Jon and Kate Plus 8 episode, where they were stuck on the tarmac for six grueling hours, forbidden to disembark the plane. She was crying and pulling her hair and the kids were going insane. I quickly calmed myself down by deciding if that happened, I would feign a heart attack and they'd have no choice but to let us off. Remember how we taught ourselves to faint in eighth grade? Yeah, I still remember how to do that, and don't think I wouldn't stoop to that level in a crises situation.
It wasn't too difficult to convince my niece to accompany us on a snow skiing vacation. Hopefully she forgets how much energy my boys have before it's time for us to book another trip.
I might have been a snow skiing mountain girl in another life, and I possibly died in that other life by being bitten by a spider the size of a mouse, or by careening off a winding, narrow mountain road engulfed in a soupy fog.
I won't bore with you the vacation details, but I do need to address a few things about vacations in general. First, do the housekeepers really wash the sheets? How do we know? Did they really wash the dishes? Or did they just give them a quick rinse without soap? Whose naked, smelly, hairy ass sat on this couch? You see where I'm going here? It doesn't matter if I'm in the Taj Mahal or the Super 8, this is where my neurotic brain leads me on vacation.
Little darling sets his pop tart on the bare counter, and I immediately wonder if the honeymooners screwed right there on the counter and the housekeepers didn't wash the counter with soap.
These towels...well...they don't smell like my towels. I imagine a big, fat, scaly, smelly guy pulling the towel front to back between his legs. What the FACK is wrong with me?
Does anyone else do this? I fear I'm a neurotic mess. Sometimes in a restaurant I look at the people putting the silverware in their mouths, and I almost can't put the silverware I'm holding in my mouth again. What if it fell on the floor?
Remember this picture?
Yeah...you know that really happens.
Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed my vacation, as did the boys. We so deserved this. I'm so glad we did it. And now I know I can do it. I can travel with these boys and have fun and relax and count on them to cooperate and that's such an awesome thing.
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