dailydiatribes

Moving right along through hell, the fifth circle is the family vacation.  When I was growing up, my family took very few vacations.  As with everything else in my children's lives, I have over compensated in this department until all possible pleasure has been removed from these excursions.

We have dragged these children to museums all across the country, we have traisped through aquariums, we have been to the beach, to the mountains, and to the city.  We have been to amusement parks and state parks and national parks and city parks.  We've hit the zoos, the woods, the wetlands, the wildlife preserves and even the bayous.  Frankly, there's not much we haven't done in the name of the family vacation.

And I absolutely loathe it.  I hate the whole idea of a vacation for so many reasons, the main one being that planning falls under my realm of responsibility, along with scrubbing the toilet and forcing my children and the lizard to eat their vegetables.

First of all, I have to come up with a destination.  This is not nearly as easy as it sounds.  "Why don't we go to Atlanta?" I'll suggest to Tim.  "I hate cities," he'll grunt in return.  "Well, let's go to the beach," says I.  "I hate the beach," says Tim.  "Fine, let's go to Disney World," I propose.  "I hate Disney World," he growls.  "Fine, let's go to the Cahaba, I'll weight you down with those damn coins you collect, sink the car, collect the insurance and I'll go to Paris without you!!" I say sweetly.  "Fine, whatever," he says.

So you see, we are already not off to a good start.  After we pick the destination, then it is my duty to secure lodging.  Tim would like to keep the cost around $5.00 a night, but it has to be air conditioned, have cable and HBO, be within 5 minutes of all activities, have an indoor pool, and have king size beds.  And you know how fast those places book up! 

Once I have the lodging, then I have to plan the activities.  Let's name all the things Tim hates to do.  He hates to swim, he hates to walk, he hates to look at museums, he hates to drive, he hates everything that does not involve sitting in MY red chair and channel surfing.  If we could find a museum that was filled with couches and plasma tv's with separate remotes for each guest, he would be in heaven!!  Otherwise, he is completely annoyed by everything.  When I suggest to him that all activities do not have to be planned just to please him, he gapes at me like I've just suggested the sky is not blue.  What, Tim not be the focus of the family vacation??  How dare I suggest we do something that entertains the children as well????

Ok, maybe he's not quite this bad, but he really is pretty close!!  Then there is the transport to the vacation spot.  We will drive of course, because I don't fly unmedicated and Tim does not want to supervise three children on an airplane by himself.  So we have to pack the car full of everything we might possibly ever conceive of needing, including gear for extreme climate changes, such as parkas and tank tops, and a selection of 37 DVDs the children have only seen twenty times as opposed to two hundred. 

Once we take off, the kids begin the fighting immediately.  They don't want to miss the extraordinary opportunity of close quarters to make my life a living hell.  "Mom, Josh keeps hitting me," moans Abby.  "Well she put her feet on my seat," he retorts as he belts her across the head.  "I want to watch Sponge Bob now!!!"  screams the demon goddess from her car seat.  "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, are we there  yet????"  Animals who eat their young at birth are much more sensible than any human.  I will say the kids know better than to ask for bathroom stops; we actually had our children genetically modified to have iron bladders.

Then comes the dreaded stop for lunch. I am far too lazy to pack a lunch and Tim and I both feel that since it's a vacation, we should eat out as often as possible.  This is one area of total harmony for us.  However, food starts a whole new shouting match.  "I want McDonald's," sing out the children.  "No, we have to eat in a sit down restaurant," I insist.  "But you can sit in McDonalds," they protest innocently.  Little tykes, should have sold them to that guy in the Wal Mart parking lot when I had the chance.  "No fast food," Tim bellows.  "How about Cracker Barrel?" I suggest.  "I hate Cracker Barrel," moans Abby.  "How about Hooters?" Tim says, at which point I pinch him very hard, right under the arm where it hurts the most. 

Finally, we stop for lunch, and then we're on our way again.  When we get where we're going, the unpacking of the car begins.  Everything must be hauled upstairs, all garbage disposed of and the car generally cleaned out.  The elevator presents a new set of challenges.  "I want to push the button," says Abby.  "No, it's my turn," says Anna.  "Fine, I'll push the outside button and you push the inside," says Abby.  They agree and then when we get in the elevator Josh jumps over and pushes the button.  Then Anna screams and then I scream and then we all scream.  I love a good family scream!!
 

Once we get into the room, the argument over the beds begins.  To liven things up, the kids begin their favorite game of "let's jump from bed to bed and see how many times we can jump before we crack our heads open on the corner of the nightstand."  By now, I am fantasizing about taping them all together with duct tape, putting out the Do Not Disturb sign, and heading for the mythical beach in Mexico.  We get the bed assignments made and then head for dinner.  By now, everyone is too tired to complain so that's pretty tame.  Then everyone wants to go to the pool.  Along with every  other aspect of the trip, this is my job.  I hate going to the pool.  If it's an indoor pool, the steamy chlorine smell makes me ill and the closed in feel makes me claustrophobic.  Tim is always the first one to suggest it, but then he's too tired to actually monitor them at the pool.  So he gets to lay on the bed and flip through the cable channels while I keep Josh and Abby from trying to beat each other to death with the pool noodle.

Bed time is the worst, though, because it's lights out, especially if we are in a hotel room together.  Usually, we get everyone settled and then I go hide in the bathroom and read, while I wait for the Tylenol PM and Bud Light to work their magic.  I will say, I sleep better on vacation than anywhere else.  Mostly because of the mental exhaustion.

We spend the next several days seeing whatever it was we came to see and arguing all the way.  The entire time, I am still providing meals, and doing laundry and watching children, so I am not really sure what part of it constitutes vacation for me.  I think if I could have a full domestic staff go along, so that I don't have to do anything, it might actually be a vacation for me!!  When we finally go home, we have had enough togetherness to last for at least a decade.  Or until the next time we are stupid enough to decide to go on vacation!!
Now if you'll excuse me, we are leaving for the beach tomorrow and I have to go and pack everyone's clothes!!  Sigh!!