I am readying for a vacation (if you can call it that) to northern Wisconsin next week and I have piles of clean clothes that haven’t been put away, animal care to square up, and a messy house to contend with. I’m harried. One must wonder how I can even take time away from what needs to be done to sit here and write this. (It’s called a break.)
To me, a vacation would be sending my family off with a pat on each of their butts and a kiss and saying ”sayonara–see ya in a week!” I crave a house that’s quiet and peaceful. I want one week just for me to do what I want-when I want. A vacation is the perfect week away–from my family that is. This is my fantasy every year–to stay home to gather my thoughts and be on my own. To transform in to a perfect mom and wife who’s completely refreshed when they pull up in the driveway a week later. Honestly, I think I mostly need a vacation from my husband.
I know how this story is gonna end. I’m going to go with them this Saturday, piling in a car thats bulging from over capacity and heading straight Up North to our usual spot, Camp Nawakwa–the Kids and the Kids Friends, the Husband, the cramped cabins and the serenity of nature all there for my enjoyment.
As my mind is bombarded by thoughts of being solo while they vacation without me, the guilt and reality of the situation begins to quickly creep in. I’m not a stupid woman. I know full well there are only so many vacations a family has together. The kids are soon grown, or they’re still around and don’t want to be seen with you because they’d rather be with their friends. Pretty soon, poof! it’s over. Realizing this, I feel I can put my ‘stay at home’ fantasy away for just one more year. After all, more than my peace, my solitude, my urge to stay up all night watching marathons of Sex and the City, my freedom to come and go and do as I please, more than all this, I love my family.
Tomorrow begins packing day. Well, well, well. Maybe, when I’m up there in the land of mosquitoes, when I just can’t take it anymore, I’ll find myself a little antique shop to escape to when the going gets tough and the togetherness gets a bit intolerable. I do know, however, I will have one more year of memories with my dear kids, and I won’t have to endure the guilt which will end up hitting me like a ton of bricks mid week, if I were to stay home solo.
Camp Nawaka, here I come.