Ok, it’s really Daddy Sleep-Away Camp, but Daddy Day camp sounded better.
This week since my husband took vacation time since I couldn’t be in lock-down with the kids for two whole weeks between the end of camp and start of school without reinforcement, and since he promised to take them camping this summer and since this summer is almost over and he never took them camping, Kevin packed up the kids and headed to Vermont for four whole days.
On his own.
Since I have long past the point where camping is considered recreation rather than extra work for me without the benefit of refrigeration, kitchen sink or functional bathroom and since I have enough work at home and don’t feel like doing it on my vacation and since I don’t really enjoy sleeping on rocks and since I already have to deal with the kids being off two million more weeks than he does, I have been granted time off for the first time in forever.
I have to say the week is here it is living up to everything it promised and more.
Released from my life of servitude, I tasted freedom for the first time. Unencumbered by the relentless demands of three other people just might make this the best vacation I’ve ever taken. For four blissful days I don’t have to clean up after another person except myself, which I already do anyway; I don’t have to answer any questions; I don’t have to enforce bath time, bedtime, summer reading, household chores or peace time agreements; I can write at my computer undisturbed; I can control the remote; I can have a beer with dinner although I wouldn’t because I don’t like beer, but I could and that’s the point; I can watch T.V. as late as I want without Kevin grumbling at me; I can eat whatever I want, which just may be a steady diet of Cheetos and Haagen Dazs; and, possibly best of all, I don’t have to cook a single meal. Honestly, I think the reason I usually don’t eat lunch is because I have to cook and clean up every mess in this house, and to avoid making another one I forgo my own needs.
In essence, this week I don’t have to squeeze myself in to my own life. It’s nice. So nice I’ve actually contemplated divorce just so I can get every other weekend off. It might be worth it.
My kids meanwhile have had a bit of a hard time understanding why I wasn’t taking the trip with them. And I had a hard time explaining that while I love them, sometimes I feel the need to be far, far away from them. For four days. Uninterrupted. Away from them.
I think the time apart makes us all appreciate one another a little more. I know my husband certainly will be more appreciative of me because before he’d even finished packing up the car yesterday morning ahead of the six-hour road trip kicking off their four days of togetherness, he was screaming at the kids. They were jumping over and through all the tents and bags and equipment piled high in the middle of the living room floor while Kevin was trying to get organized. He just couldn’t take their unbridled enthusiasm so he kicked them out of the house and went back to making final preparations, mumbling something about the kids making things impossible and driving him crazy. And it wasn’t even 9:00 o’clock yet.
I remained quietly out of the fray.
When the car doors finally slammed shut and I heard the roar of the car engine, I smiled and waved from the porch.
“Have a good time,” I yelled after them. I knew they would. Stuffed inside the car along with my family was way more than six hours of DVD’s, an iphone, a laptop and plenty of video game devices. It seems everyone had everything they needed for a good week together.
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