It’s spring break week. Someone please save me.
I’d love to say we are relaxing somewhere on a warm sunny beach, but even if we were on a beach, let’s be honest, with three kids in tow “relaxing” is probably not a likely description.
If you have read my past columns, then you know my definition of “vacation.” If you are a new reader, allow me to explain: A “vacation” means parents are relaxing on a warm sunny beach while their children are visiting their grandparents in an entirely different state (or planet).
A “trip” would imply that you are traveling to a different location with children and, other than the big scary mouse and his entourage of giant critters, not much is different because you are still up at the crack of dawn refereeing UFC-like matches.
“It’s my turn to sit by the window!”
“She threw glitter in my eyes!”
We are a family of travelers, and in the past have dared even to fly overseas with three kids under the age of 7, but this year spring break is a “staycation” or more accurately a “stay-at-home-trip.”
We have taken the kids out for various activities including a 3-D movie and dinner at their favorite Mexican restaurant, and we have more outings planned.
However, there are quite a few resemblances to an actual spring break excursion. It’s like being in college again.
Our home looks like a frat house, or, a Daytona Beach hotel room in the month of March, minus the sand.
There are crumbs and half-eaten food all over the place. There are people sleeping on the couch. The dogs (yes, two) are bloated with leftover pizza and making weird gagging noises. The music is too loud. No one has showered in at least three days. The coffee maker is spewing out an unidentified substance. Dishes are piled in the sink (in the bathroom). Clothes are strewn about (underwear included). The floor is sticky. Fights are breaking out and rear-ends hanging out (because, of course, fashionable toddlers also wear low-rider jeans) and I have a headache.
But, yet I stare with envy at the beach pictures on Facebook of families enjoying their spring break: their messy rooms being cleaned by magic genies that pop out of empty two-liters while parents chase their kids around the pool wielding SPF-90 sunscreen.
Toes in the sand and a drink in my hand? Ah, maybe next year. In the meantime you can find me collapsed in a chair and pulling out my hair.
Party on, spring breakers.