I know, you’ve almost forgotten who I am. Apparently, leading AWANA, caring for a new baby three days a week, and joining the PTO board on top of my previous responsibilities can make one busier. I know, shocked me too.
I almost entitled this one “Run Away! Run Away!”…to be read in your best Month Python and the Holy Grail impression. But I thought the reference might elude some (who need to immediately go and watch this movie. Now. Go right now. I’ll wait.) Anyway…a couple of weeks ago…you know, when I was still blogging and stuff…I went on a Ladies Getaway. Now, there are very few things about motherhood of which I am certain. One is that, if you have something all figured out and start preaching it to everyone else, God will send you a child that blows that theory out of the water and you have to start all over from scratch. The second is…every mommy needs a vacation.
Why? The obvious reason is it gives mommy a chance to unwind, relax, and walk from point A to point B without tripping over a small child, puncturing her foot on some sharp edged toy, or slip on some unknown wet area on the floor. But it also gives hubby and the kids a good lesson in appreciation. Mainly, it shows them very clearly how much mommy does for them on a daily basis….and how much they miss it when she’s gone.
I go on this getaway every year and it’s fabulous. We head off to San Diego and there is no schedule or itinerary. You show up, stay in a hotel on the beach, and basically just lounge around feeling fabulous. To top it off, the ladies at my church are fabulous. No one excludes others, everyone mingles, no backstabbing or gossip, and no kids. Just good old fashioned fun. Did I mention no kids?
Here are the highlights from this year (good and not so good).
The Butterfly Massacre of 2013 – On the drive there we noticed a lot of yellow stuff floating in the air ahead of us. Only to realize as we got closer that it wasn’t just stuff…it was butterflies. Beautiful, graceful, yellow, soon to be splattered butterflies. Hundreds of them. I have a fairly strong stomach and this traumatized me. To watch one butterfly after another meet a gutsy end on our windshield. I’m grateful our driver kept it together through the brutal massacre enough where we didn’t go off the road. So, a moment of silence for the Butterfly Massacre of 2013.
Rest Stops – I have shared my opinion of rest stops before here. At least at this one there were no children. Of course instead it looked like a utility building for power lines, surrounded by multiple large dumpsters, and smelled like a sewer. I was blessed in that I didn’t need to go, but was informed by Ash that there was poop smeared on the walls in one of the stalls. Yummy. We did stop and take pictures:
Breakfast – Ash and I went running together along the beach…which was awesome. Then we stopped and picked up K and headed out to breakfast. We were told that there were sea lions out with the surfers so we brought our food out onto the pier. But instead of sea lions, we see a couple seemingly drunk people hugging on each other and heading to the beach. Then a practically naked chick shows up and the guys starts making out with her stomach. The other lady disappears (she either drowned or passed out somewhere) while the new couple continues to make out in such a way as to make even “loose women” blush…in the water. He then proceeds to grab large quantities of sea weed and drape them over her shoulders and head…pausing occasionally to remove trash from the sea weed. So we had breakfast and a show.
For the sake of time here are the other highlights…cliff notes style – learning to boogie board. Running early in the morning before the sun and watch the ships and boats leave the harbor. Midday naps that were uninterrupted. Playing some bizarre form of charades called Anything Goes (my favorites…hyperdrive, unlocking a door with a key attached to your head while spraying a stranger with perfume, spider, suddenly, and the chicken…aka constipated duck) and my most epic of farts witnessed only by Ash.
I can’t wait until next year.