Usually, during spring break, we just end up kicking around at home, trying to get work done as usual as our children slowly, surely descend into stir-crazy insanity from the break in routine. I believe by day three of last year's break Jason and I were hiding from them in a closet, whispering desperate promises to NEVER DO THIS AGAIN. Next year we would take them somewhere, anywhere, as long it was outside of our house and offered a reasonable number of activities, particularly of the "tiring kids out" variety.
We looked into Disney and other family-friendly vacation spots and were stymied by either the price or the fact that Ike would be too young to really participate or remember any of it. (And SORRY, if I'm shelling out the big bucks for a magical family vacation Y'ALL BETTER REMEMBER IT, even the parts you spent crying because Mommy refused to buy you cotton candy for breakfast. Here, stand next to the vendor and direct your wailing at the camera so I may preserve this preshus memory forever.) The timing for a big family vacation was off, maybe next year when Ike's a little older. So how do we kill a week this year?
Then Jason's parents spoke up and floated the idea that hey, they'd really like some time with the boys and wouldn't mind us coming up for the whole week. Maybe you two could get a few days away while they watched the kids for us because oh hey wait, what are you doing?
JASON: I'm buying plane tickets to Vegas, that's what I'm doing.
So yeah, I'm abandoning my children to the care of the grandparents next week and taking a completely selfish grown-up vacation to Las Vegas (AGAIN, though not at all work-related this time).
I have a giant heap of reasons why I do not feel guilty about this. See: they love their grandparents, my in-laws have more energy and more interest in daily trips to playgrounds and museums than I do, we got a really good deal on the airfare and hotel, we'll be back in time to still spend a few with them before school starts again, we'll take them to the beach later this year, etc. etc.
But of course the reality is that I am a mother and feeling guilty about things is just kind of what we do sometimes.
So I feel do feel a little guilty about leaving Ike in particular; I feel guilty about how much work my mother-in-law is going to end up doing, even though she swears she doesn't mind. I feel guilty that I won't be there with my mom on the second anniversary; I even feel a little guilty about not feeling REALLY guilty. Because on the other hand, it's going to be so, so nice to get away. To sleep in and not work and walk around holding hands with my husband and eating whatever we want and seeing some shows or just hanging out on the balcony with a book and a glass of wine for hours. Oh my God, ah mah gah, ermagerd, etc.
And on the other, other hand, the trip necessitated that we finally bite the bullet and order some lightweight luggage (I bought out current suitcases well over a decade ago and they weigh close to 25 pounds EMPTY, so we regularly get nailed with weight charges now, grabble grumble air travel the worst these days garble), and they came in giant boxes. Which means the kids are totally down with the whole plan, because GIANT BOXES YAAAAY.
(I am going to miss them.)
(I am also going to sleep the fuck in so hard.)