Vacations are short for a reason. Think about it for a moment. . . If the average person had at their disposal an indefinite amount of vacation time and the ability to say, “I’m going on vacation, see you all when I’m good and ready to come back”, chances are good they would either return completely wrecked or dead. Humans are creatures of habit and, when removed from the routine in which they’ve been ensconced for years, tend to go down rather destructive roads in their pursuit of ‘recreation’.
Perhaps a case study would better illustrate my point.
I have, for quite some time, felt that I ‘needed’ a vacation. It’s been a long time since I’d taken any time off for reasons other than exploding plumbing and health crises, so a good, solid vacation would work wonders. I planned three days off during spring break for no other lofty goals than to play with the kids and, maybe, get through a few more chapters on my current novel. What could possibly go wrong?
The weekend started out fairly well, as Saturday and Sunday both became ‘goof off days’. I actually revisited some old sketch work that had been too long ignored, and I wrote a bit more in my sci-fi universe under the scrutinizing eye of my seven year-old daughter. All was well.
Then, later in the day Sunday, came a whirlwind decision: We would take the time this week and visit our family down in Kentucky and Southern Indiana. Okay, I wouldn’t get much done, writing wise, but we would get a good mini-vacation out of the adventure. One blazing round of packing, six hours, three stops, and 402 miles later, we were nestling into the ‘guest room’ of my wife’s parents’ house, looking forward to a good sleep and some much-needed time to unwind. We almost got away with it.
Monday and Tuesday went well, save for a few traffic snarls and the fact that I still hadn’t picked up my pen and pad for any productive time. We spent four hours at the zoo in a blaze of unseasonable warmth and sunlight, which didn’t matter, since the kids had a great time. The rest of the time was spent visiting my family which, I am amazed to say, went off without a hitch.
Then came Wednesday. We knew that the storms Tuesday night were bringing arctic air down from the northern climes, but the first clear weather report we heard for our hometown made it rather clear that some plowing would be in order once we returned. Coupled with the fact that my in-laws were celebrating their anniversary, we felt that it would be best to stay another day, returning home in the full light of the day Thursday, rather than forging our way back around Wednesday, midnight. It would give us an excuse to catch up with a couple of old friends, and keep the grandparents from giving us the guilt about not seeing their grandkids often enough. You can already hear the ominous music, can’t you?
Since they rarely get a break from the local grandchildren, we thought it would be good to take our kids and our nephews out for some entertainment that extra night, giving my wife’s parents at least a few hours’ peace. One large pizza and roughly an hour later, we found ourselves in a place called “The Fun House”. Perhaps it is aptly named for small children, but for adults the name requires a disclaimer. I would suggest, for example, “The Fun House: Your kids are going to love all our ticket-spitting, loud, malfunctioning games that all require many dollars’ worth in tokens to play but will, in the end, only yield them some crappy piece of plastic that makes noise or just breaks if you look at it with a sideways glance while you pacify yourselves with our ‘salad bar’ and ‘gourmet pizza’ which is really just leftover produce and frozen French loaves we got at the local wholesale club for pennies. By the way, the ‘gym set’, a.k.a. the ‘gerbil cage for kids’ is really nothing more than a fancy urinal. Have a nice day.”
Those of you with small children understand this trip. Every parent, in some form or another, has taken this trip. It’s the one that ends with you carrying your screaming, kicking, eighteen month-old daughter through the building because she’s: A. tumbled out of the insipid little kiddie-ride that looks like a school bus, skinning her knee on the abrasive carpeting and: B. wanting to get back in the insipid little kiddie-ride that looks like a school bus because she just likes to put the tokens in the slots. It’s also the trip where you learn or re-learn to carry your younger children at odd angles, since their legs are just long enough to kick you in places that would get them removed from most professional sporting events. When they smile at you at the end of the trip, you tend to forget all the worries and trouble, though (at least, until you get home later and the soreness starts to kick in).
Not being one to invite trouble and headaches (upon himself, anyway), my oldest son saw the opportunity to cut and run and took it without hesitation, going to see the new ‘Ninja Turtles’ movie with his aunt and older cousin.
So there you have it: Case study #1a in a nutshell. It was a moderately uneventful vacation trip, flawless in its execution, until being done in by a random, extra day. I can’t complain, as the kids had fun. That’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re a child, isn’t it? Let your parents have all the worries; you need to have fun when you can, while you can. As for me, I write this at midnight, plus thirty, unable to sleep. I know I need my rest for the trip home tomorrow, through the blinding snow. I know that, despite my best efforts, I will be roused from my slumber at six in the morning by four very wide-eyed children trying to separate the toys they brought from the menagerie that is their cousins’. I just know that I’m going to listen to four hundred miles’ worth of TMNT movie review from my son.
I just know that it’s all worth it, because Friday, I get to go back to work.
Next time: Our Imperiled Perspicacity. . . No, Really!
