Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Waiter? I'd like a vacation from my vacation, please... Make it a double.

I am NOT a planner... I have no awareness of any kind of "big picture" anywhere in my life. I never did. I can remember during my senior year in high school, when I was counting the days 'til my life would "begin" (HA!)  and all of my friends were so stressed out and kept visiting the Guidence Counselor's office and going on overnights to check out colleges... I was sleeping and doing as little homework as I could in order to squeak out a B- in most classes thinking, "What are they running around like their underwear's on fire for? College won't actually start until next fall, for Christ's sake." I did get into college. Just had to do a year+ in community college as those folks have fewer acceptance hoops to jump through and rolling admissions.

At any rate... this dysfunction has played a recurring role in my life, along with it's stupid side kick - procrastination. Not the least of the issues born of this combination of character defects, was the spacing of my children. They are 5 years apart. The Six Year Old is a flake, for sure, and will probably need a partner in life who reminds him of things like wearing socks that match or remembering everyday to check the roof of the car before driving away, but at least he can manage himself in a restaurant. And I no longer I have to fish in his mouth while squeezing his cheeks to grab random shit while trying to avoid being bitten. I don't have to tell him 473,611 times NOT to throw rocks or bring his juice into the living room. I have to tell him as many times to change his underwear and to put dirty clothing INTO the hamper as opposed to on the floor next to it... BTW - is this a glitch that comes with a penis or just the penises that come from my husband's bloodline??? Aaaaand.... he understands my angry voice. He has learned that to survive life with me, you must STOP, LOOK and LISTEN upon hearing mom's loud words. He knows with certainty that your best bet is to feign death when you hear mom speak to you an inch and a half from your face, through gritted teeth. The Little Viking... hasn't yet embraced this survival technique. Foiled by lack of planning. Again... I am less than thrilled to meet with resistance again after several years of compliance.
So, one would wonder, how is it possible that we didn't take any of these everyday experiences into consideration when we decided to pack up and go to southern Connecticut for a Camping-Aquarium-Beach-and-Dinosaur-Park-Family-Funfest Weekend??? Hell if I know. I'm not going to say the Little Viking was the cause of the Family Funfest Weekend more closely resembling a suckfest weekend for most of the two and a half days we were gone... but you can probably infer that he was a big part.
Here are some highlights:
  • During the setting up of camp and for the rest of our stay it was 4,000 degrees with an occassional breeze that amounted to a small, hot fart - NO RELIEF. With sweat dripping from places too gross to mention, we managed to put up the tent, assemble the screened canopy, unpack the car, and not lose or kill the children, while still choosing to stay married. Yay!
  • At some point during the setting up of camp, the Little Viking walked out of a diaper that must have been soaked with 3 pounds of pee... We didn't realize until I saw sweaty bum cheek prints on the picnic table...
  • Sleeping was horrendous - me on an air mattress wearing both kids like a wetsuit while my husband snores away on his own mattress.
  • Had to deter sleepwalking Six Year Old from pissing on the side of the tent twice in the middle of the night...
  • Despite the delicious smells from all the wonderful little bistros and downtown restaurants in Mystic, we were relegated to Friendly's and McDonald's because no one in such establishments will care that the Little Viking acts like an animal while waiting and eating... and breathing.
  • At the beach, it turns out that the Little Viking hates the ocean. The Six Year Old could stay in the waves all day, which apparently necessitated that the Viking go down to the water every 10 minutes to demand that his brother come "OUT!" and was followed seemlessly by a 5 star meltdown each time I returned him to the blanket to dig.
  • At some point, after coating himself in sand like a Shake-n-Bake pork chop for most of the hour we were there, the Little Viking became aware of the inevitable sand in and around your nut sack feeling and began to scream about his "peem-pis" (penis - for those of you with little grasp of phonics and/or no imagination) I could not believe I actually brought a book with me...
  • I think my heffalump physique clad in my granny-suit actually grossed out some 17 year-old Rock of Love wanna-be in a neon bikini. Funny thing was it didn't sting like it used to when I was little. I was a even a bit amused to catch her eye and horrified expression. I told her I used to be a size 6, but it was the carbs that did me in. I imagined later that she was a on a treadmill somewhere crying about french fries.
  • The Aquarium was a great experience... The Little Viking has been integrated into our family's love of giant fish tanks filled with aquatic amazement. Hooray! We didn't have to chum the beluga tank with his pulpy remains. The heat took a bit of the piss out him and he was asleep the second we left the parking lot.
As my husband and I high-fived our way out of the campground on the morning we were to leave, I was giddy with the thought of a cool, dry bed and air conditioning and grandparents waiting with open arms for the tykes they missed for three days. I was delerious with the thought of not having to interact with my children until bedtime.
Family Funfest weekend, indeed...
Here's what I have managed to plan recently - Next Wednesday I am having my tubes blocked! No more babies. No more hormones. Here's as big as the picture needs to be for me right now: I will NEVER have to go camping with a toddler again.