This means that I have approximately 8 million things to do between now and then.
Because, as every mother knows, vacations are not calm or relaxing when you’re the boss.
I mean, before you can even START to think about what to do when you get there, you have to make sure that people have enough underwear, which invariably leads to no less than three loads of laundry.
And then once you have all the clothes and toiletries packed for the kids, and maybe even the husband, then you have to remember if you even have a swimsuit that you can maybe try to squeeze into.
Of course, we have to think about food. How long will you be in the car before you arrive at your destination? Are there rest stops along that way? If I leave at 2 in the morning, do I think people will sleep in the car? And where am I going to put all the snacks so that I can reach them and so that they can’t get into them in a 3 foot space?
And you always have to plan on at least one person throwing up… because if you DON’T plan on it, and you foolishly assume that everyone is big enough to tell you when they’re going to be sick, so that you can pull off the road and throw them out of the car to do their business, well, that’s the equivalent to kicking karma in the face. I mean, if you want your options to be either to drive through the desert with the windows down in the dead of summer, or to keep the windows up and the cool air in and smell the putrid contents of your child’s stomach for the next 2 days, then FINE, don’t plan on the vomit.
(totally your call there.)
And that up there? That doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re supposed to DO with your kids as you pound back one caffeinated beverage after another in the hopes that you will stay awake and alert the whole drive while simultaneously refereeing “I Spy” and answering the question “Are we there yet?” for the 87th time that hour in a calm and collected manner.
*I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can*
I totally heart vacation guys.
