Our Vacations Require A Recovery...And Possibly An Intervention.

Details on the Latest Observation of the Decline of My Sanity, a.k.a. Life With Frank, will revolve around spring break.

"Break," to Frank, simply implies "breaking something." "Break" is a verb, not a noun. It is an action word. Break implies doing something, not um, sitting around on one's arse, as would be my definition. Unfortunately it is verb he often dabbles in. Last year, his spring break involved a separated shoulder. I am happy to report that this year there are no new broken bones.

I know this will come as a large surprise to those of you who follow me regularly. Frank and I do not vacation well together. As a matter of fact, I pretty much dread anything that could be labeled as vacation, requiring his presence.

As I often do while writing these posts, I keep the Webster's Dictionary/Thesaurus website open. I plugged "vacation" into the dictionary and it is a noun. It can be used as a verb, as in the act of vacationing...I plugged it into the thesaurus and got this:

breather, relaxation, respite, rest; interim, intermission, interval; feast, holy day, legal holiday; honeymoon; idling, loafing, lounging, slacking off.

Slacking off?

The work begins way before we even leave our house.

He packs the important stuff.

The wave runner.

The wakeboard.

The skimboards.

The ski boat.

The bicycles.

The skis.

The kneeboards.

The life vests.

The helmets.

The ice chest full of beer.

And God forbid it's a winter destination. You will not believe how much crap he tries to get on an airplane. Of course few things are as cumbersome as a boat.

And this year he tacked on our geriatric golden retriever, Dale, who is in need of medication three times a day. Dale might be old, but would still be willing to escape and kill some tiny, vacationing yorkie-type thing. Dale's a lot like Frank. There is not one single thing relaxing about him.

So, thank the good Lord, we drove separately to St. George, me with the kids in the van, Frank in his jeep, ice chest full of beer, bikes on the bike rack, towing a wave runner (no boat!) with the old-ass dog in the passenger seat and headed south. Do you know how many women looked at that getup and said "Thank God it's not mine. Thank God none of it is mine, not even that old-ass dog."

Let me tell you what he did not bring. Lounge chairs for the beach. He did not even think about this item. We are not in ownership of such a thing.

Hell, just looking at it made me tired, but tired as I was, I perform a little mental ritual that makes me laugh, every time I find myself in this situation. I sing the Tigger song in my head. It's my comic relief. The words are as follows:

The wonderful thing about Tiggers
Is Tiggers are wonderful things!
Their tops are made of rubber
Their bottoms are made out of springs!
They're
Bouncy,
Flouncy,
Trouncy,
Pouncy,
Fun, fun, fun, fun, FUN!!!

And one of the most wonderful things about Tiggers
Is I'm the only one

I'm the only one!

~~~~~

I am tired.

Already.

Yep, still in the driveway.

And this is because in the length of time it takes Frank to load up, trailer up, gas up, and whatever-else-up all his crap, somebody is loading up the non-essentials, like the food...the clothes...the toiletries...the kids.

By the time we got there and unloaded, I was already in worse shape than the dog and in much more need of medication.

And so we proceeded to, um, vacation...

Frank swam,

Frank rode the wave runner.

Frank skim boarded.

Frank went for bike rides.

Frank went for jeep rides.

I cleaned the house.

I fed the kids breakfast.

I fed the kids lunch.

I fed the kids snacks.

I fed the kids dinner.

I chased down the old ass, escaped dog. Six times.

I loaded the dishwasher.

I emptied the dishwasher.

I sunscreened the kids.

I hung out wet bathing suits.

I hung out wet towels.

I took a multitude of photos of Frank enjoying himself.

And at the end of the day I drank wine on the deck, giving me a grand total of four collective hours of vacation time.

So, after a fun-filled four days, which seemed more like forty-four days and aged me about two years, we are back. The wave runner is under the shed, the bicycles are back in the garage and I have about ten loads of laundry to do.

My God that was fun.

When are we going back?

Maybe by next time we'll have another dog, a puppy would be great. Or we can have another baby. Or we can invite other people and their babies and dogs to join us. The possibility for fun, recreation and relaxation is positively endless.

For more of Frank's vacation tips, please follow me here on blogspot or on facebook at the following link:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Latest-Observation-of-the-Decline-of-My-Sanity/246078574596?ref=mf