- People say, “You need essential oils.” Umm…okay. Do I dab it on my wrists? Behind my ears? Slather it on my children? Dump it down the water fall?
- Other say, “You need to drink. A lot.” Well, true…but you know my inmates are gonna drag me down the insane toilet-flushing water slide. I don’t see it ending well for me…or fellow water park attendees when I either become violently ill or shit myself.
- And speaking of THAT fun subject…Warrior Princess has been embracing the whole potty training thing now that she gets to sport Young Son’s briefs. Except for a few bumps in the road, she’s been doing great. Now I know pools are filled with gallons of pee anyway, so what’s an extra gallon or two from our potty goddess? I just have to pray for quality chlorination and fill my head with thoughts of rainbows and unicorns.But what if she’s…THAT KID… who becomes un-constipated in the pool??? I don’t know if I can handle the hostile looks of ridicule and shame from other parents as they evacuate the pool, marching their sobbing children past our pooping princess. “You ruined our spring break! Why did you go and fill your kid up with fiber! What kind of rotten mom are you! We hate you!” (Yes, friends. These are the thoughts that fill my head at night. You’re feeling pretty sorry for my husband right about now, aren’t you?)
- How do I keep track of it all without completely losing my mind?? I know we picked the worst time of year to go and it’s going to be full of insanity, melt downs and fighting (and not just from me.) Just thinking about the crowds while trying to manage three impatient inmates chomping at the bit to get the fun started is giving me a major panic attack.You know they’ll immediately all want to go in different directions. First Born will make a bee line for the most intense slide of all, Young Son will find something to be grouchy about — “This place is too wet. My goggles are leaky. When do I get to have a hotdog? They better have hotdogs here.” And then Warrior Princess will either want to follow First Born to certain drowning or will be glued to my hip the entire time and try to use my boobs as floaties. (Which reminds me not to forget her Puddle Jumper.)
And then there’s Dear Husband. He’s the biggest wild card of all. Now he may just surprise me and really get into it and have some fun. On the other hand, he might “take one for the team” and offer to guard all the
craphelpful gear I’ll surely be required to bring, while the rest of us go have “fun.” Yeah right. You know as well as I do that four hours later, I’m going to find him relaxing on a lounge chair with his phone in one hand and a cocktail in the other. “Hey! Did you have fun? How’s the water?” (Cue my stroke-inducing rage attack.) How about you find out for yourself when I waterboard you???
- When do I get to relax? Let’s assume for a minute that the planets align and he and I are able to find a place to sit while the inmates splash away while we watch from the side. I’ll bet you vat of mimosas and a platter of bon bons that as soon as my first cocktail of bliss and joy arrives, those jerks will come slogging back to me, “I’m hungry! Can we have ice cream? I’m tired of swimming. I’m bored. I want to go play video games. I have to go potty…Ooops. Never mind.”*Whimper*
Why did I think this was all a good idea? Well, when Dear Husband and I were searching for a fun family getaway, he casually mentioned, “Hey look. This place has ‘Wine Down Service’ where you get your choice of wine and chocolate, cheese or charcuterie delivered to your room.” YES! SOLD! Sign us up! Jeez. Am I that much of a moron that I’m easily bribed by room service. (Yes. Yes I am.)
I just had a brilliant idea! Just when it’s scheduled to arrive, I’ll say, “I need to go get something out of the car. I’ll be right back.” I’ll dash out, hijack the delivery guy on the elevator and lock myself in the back of my fabulous mini van, kick my feet up and watch a DVD of my choosing while I Wine Down….All…By…My…Self. It will be glorious.
Yes. This is what my life has come to. Wish me luck.