Summer Vacation Is A State Of Mind

Zane's last day of school was Friday.  Larry's last day was Saturday.  The two of them have been joined at the hip all weekend, giggling, playing FIFA soccer on the Xbox, discussing possible adventures.  They've decided that swimming is on the agenda, as is playing soccer.  The local movie theater offers free movies on Tuesdays for moms and kids.  Inflatable Wonderland is half-price during the week.  So much to do, so little time!   

I will not be poolside.  I will not be footing a soccer ball.  I will still be working.  We have to work during part of the summer, usually most of June.  Not our usual hours of 8am to 4pm.  No, we will have to work 7:30-5:30 for four days each week during the summer.  Ten hour work days during the summer does not equal a more productive workforce(change our routine and it takes us forever to get acclimated), but it does save on the electrical bills, they tell us. 

Except my brain has already left for the summer.  In my head I've been sitting in a lounge chair for a couple of weeks, sipping something fruity with an umbrella in it.  I am wearing a classy black maillot, a straw wide brim hat, and huge sunglasses, the latest trashy novel in my hands.  I am skinny, my skin is a nice golden brown completely free of skin cancer, and I am skinny.  Did I mention that I am skinny?  And by skinny, I don't mean a size 0 starving waif skinny, I mean a healthy size 10-12 skinny, with curves in all the right places.  The pool is crystal clear, the water cool.  There's a cabana boy waiting with towels when I get out of the pool.  At some point I have a massage scheduled, and a nice pedicure, but now is all I care about.  Best of all?  My brain vacation is an actual vacation, where I don't have to clean anything, or cook anything, or decide anything.  It's all paid for, someone else is in charge, and all I have to do is relax and enjoy.

Yeah, none of that exists.  In reality, my idea of a fun vacation involves exploring museums and historical sites, that sort of thing.  I'd love to spend a month or two in England, for instance.  But that's when Zane is older; these days we consider a day at SeaWorld to be the limit.  

But still, it is a wonderful daydream.  It will certainly give me some moments of peace in June, while I am sitting at my desk, shuffling papers about.

What is your daydream vacation?

A Voice In the Night

"Mom!"

I heard it from a distance, a far off voice.  I struggled to the surface of my dream.   What is going on?  Who is this mom?  What is all that racket?  My brain is still poolside, sipping a tall,fruity drink brought to me by a cabana dude who looks remarkably like Batman.  

"Mom!"  

I don't usually sleep deeply.  Usually I have one ear trained to listen for my son throughout the night.  Occasionally, however, I just can't help it, and it's extremely difficult for me to wake up when I am that far under.   My consciousness smacked me.  Get up, your child needs you!  Your child is calling for you in the middle of the night!  There may be an actual emergency!  My heart raced in response and I shoved myself from the bed with a sudden alertness that belies my addled state.  I stumble through the dark, hitting the wall with my knee.   

"Mom!"

"I'm coming!"  It's only about ten feet, but it feels like a hundred because I am still groggy. 

"Mom, Wake up!"

"I'm here, son."  I am out of breath, panting from the adrenaline rush, but I am at least next to my child, and I am ready to help him.   "What's wrong?"
 
"Zzzzzzzzzz..."

It took me a few minutes of standing there to realize that Zane had been talking in his sleep.  Then I had to wrestle with my inner child another few minutes, because I wanted to wake the boy up just because he woke ME up. 

The next morning, Larry wanted to know why I was so cranky.  I think that I would have been justified if I had punched him, don't you?

Simple

Simplicity. We all want it, or at least that's what I've heard.  There are certainly enough books written on the topic.  We long for the days when life was more simple, free of the demands of life and work and other people. 

When most of us think of simplicity, there is this pleasant image of a tire swing underneath an extremely old oak tree, a blanket spread on soft and fragrant, freshly mown grass, a picnic basket full of fried chicken right beside us.   Or maybe we think of a porch swing on a pleasantly warm day, with a grandmotherly type of person bringing us a cool glass of homemade lemonade. 

Who told us that those times were simple?  It was the person sitting on the blanket or the porch swing, wasn't it?  The person who did not wash that blanket is the one saying that life was simple "back in the day".  Of course life was simple for that person!  They didn't have to do anything--someone else did all the work!  There was another person(or more) in that 'simpler' time, standing in a hot kitchen, slicing and squeezing 400 lemons so that there would be some fresh lemonade for someone who probably didn't even say 'Thank you'.   While there wasn't television or Xbox back then, life certainly wouldn't have been considered 'simple' by the people who were living it at the time.   I suppose that each generation has to place a certain sheen of nostalgia on previous generations.  I just wish that they would get their facts straight. 

I often feel as though I am being pulled in several directions at once.  I never feel as though I have finished any tasks; I just seem to have new items added to the lists!  And then I wish that life were simpler. That isn't really what I want. What I want in those moments is for someone else to take care of everything.  Someone else to answer the phone and the emails.  Someone else to listen to complaints.  Someone else to cook the dinner.  Someone else to make some freakin' decisions, at least for 30 minutes so I can have a tiny bit of breathing room.

I also want someone to massage my tired feet at the end of the day and bring me some sort of fruity alcoholic beverage.  But that is another blog post.