Lakeside. Spring Break. Finally, after what seemed like a "forever" Minnesota winter--and I like winter--spring is here and we are celebrating symbolically with a visit to one of our all-time favorite cities in the world, where the ice has just gone out on Lake Superior: Duluth.
In the past, hotel stays haven't been much fun. In fact, they have consistently made my top ten list of "Things That, If I Mention Doing Them, Please Hit Me Hard In The Head With A Heavy Frying Pan" --if you can locate one in my kitchen.
However, a couple of weeks ago, I guess the cabin fever got the best of me. I went ahead and mentioned to the kids that we "probably" would go "somewhere" for "a few days" during Spring Break. Vague enough, right? I thought so. My ploy was to be vague, but plant the seed so I'd have a little support when I'd need it. Once I broached the subject with my husband, believe me, I'd need it. Problem is, I rarely think before I speak. (I'm one of the few people in my life who think this is a charming quality).
Now, my husband and I are not in the habit of communicating on a regular basis--it's just that, when he's home, things around the house happen at a sort of hyper speed, or something. I think it's because all the kids want to see, or talk to, or just be around their dad--even if they're not in the same room together. So, there is an atmosphere not unlike that of bees at work: a dull, hypnotic hum, lots of little bodies swarming around, headed in various different directions with no discernible destination. There is an air of quiet (really, it's not so quiet) mayhem. And me? I, too, love when he's around; it feels like I don't have to be in charge anymore. But, then again, it's not long before I realize: "Hey! Who does he think he is, acting all 'I'm in charge' and stuff? I'm the Boss around here!" You can imagine how this attitude of mine might cause problems. How's the poor guy supposed to act?
Then, there's the fact that he likes a clean house, so he cleans a lot when he's at home. Bless his heart, and (grab a chair, ladies) he actually relaxes by cleaning. This I don't understand: I'd do almost anything (except maybe spend the night in a hotel room with my children again, but I'm getting ahead of myself) to not have to clean! If you haven't already grabbed something to sit on, now you really should, because this next statement is going to knock you off your feet: I must admit that I often complain to him about his cleaning. (Now, if I could make that font any smaller and know that you could still read it, I would--that's how embarrassing that confession was to make.) Bless him! Who complains about a spouse who wants to clean?
My friends have wondered about this for years. (Courtesy pause here for any of my children who might be reading this: prepare for a "major gross-out" or just skip to the next paragraph). Over the course of our marriage, I've been the one with the stronger, shall we say, "drive" in the boudoir, while he could take-it or leave it. My friends have always seen my married life as ideal! A husband who basically leaves me alone in the area of connubial duties and who would rather clean than do most anything else. "What's to complain about???", they'd ask.
The bottom line: When he cleans, I feel like I have to, too. But, I don't WANT to clean. And, what's more, he says it "doesn't bother" him if I don't clean. I don't believe him. I know he's keeping score and is going to use it against me somehow down the road. When I least expect it, he'll toss it out there during an argument and I'll have no recourse. It's one of my biggest areas of paranoia.
So, here he is, this great guy who just wants to come home to his wife and kids and be able to unwind in front of a nice, filthy pile of whites, when I gently break the news to him that we'll be going "somewhere" for a "few days" over Spring Break.
I've told you how I feel about the hotel scenario. Want to know how he feels? Triple my angst. In his mind, everything about the definition of vacation goes against this idea. But, after much arguing and pleading on my part, (all of which is done passive-aggressively, mind you), he relents. After all, he knows that getting away to a hotel used to by one of my all-time favorite treats! He wants to make me happy! Sweetie.
Somehow, as parents, we develop a coping mechanism that allows us to forget things like the pain of childbirth (or the pain of witnessing it, depending on which spouse you are); that pungent, lingering odor of soiled diapers; the panic we hide as your child takes his or her first drive behind the wheel, and the horror of spending the night in a hotel room with your 5 small, cranky, sugared-up, car-weary kids. This ability to forget is one of life's beautiful mysteries. A gift from God.
After our first hotel incident years ago, we vowed to remind one another about the torment we put upon ourselves when first we made the mistake with two toddlers. "Repeat after me", we said, in turn: "If I ever again reach the point of insanity at which I suggest such craziness, you have permission to do your choice of the following: file for divorce or have me committed." We both took this oath fully and without hesitation. It was too soon after the event, however, to say we were of sound mind. That may have been the problem.
Yesterday, after joyfully grocery shopping with my 13 year old--actually a lot of fun, I'm not kidding here--and arriving home to a cute van-full of family, patiently awaiting our arrival home so we could leave town. Approx. 15 min. into the trip, my husband and I looked at each other knowingly. Neither of us said a word. Fast forward through our check-in at the hotel:
child #5: "MOM! MOM! MOM! CAN I PUT MY SUIT ON? CAN I GO SWIMMING NOW? MOM! ARE YOU LISTENI- "
me: "Sweetheart, please let me speak to this gentleman about our room. Then you ca-"
child #4:"MOM (hitting me in the back repeatedly--rounding the pillar next to me and pounding his fist into me each time it reaches me in his circle), WHEN CAN WE GO TO THE HARBOR? DAD SAID WE'D GO TO THE HARBOR RIGHT AWAY? MOM, YOU'RE NOT PAYING ATTEN-"
me: "Honey, PLEASE just let me finish here, and then we'll go to our roo-"
child #2: "MOM, DAD NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT ROOM WE'RE IN SO HE CAN BRING OUR STUFF IN. MOM, WHAT ROOM ARE WE IN? MOM!!!"
At this point, the young man behind the desk is on the phone scheduling his vasectomy and gives me the "be with you in a minute" pointer finger.
Finally, we actually made it into the room, to the pool for a brief swim, to the harbor and on a walk across the lift bridge. We even lasted through a pretty darned good meal. All seemed well, until we got back to the room. The kids were getting antsy, so they left the restaurant before my husband and me--(could it be that we have gotten to the point in life where the children can be sufficient without us, even if only for a brief moment?) An extremely cautious "yippy!" drifted over our lips as we paid the bill and walked across the street to the hotel. While he generously tended to the children during their pre-bedtime swim, I cozied into bed, my book in hand, a glass of wine on the bedside table.
It was all down hill from there. 623 entrances and exits later, they were all in for the duration. However, it took many, many combinations to get to the correct ones--you know, who could sleep with whom without murder or suicide as a result.
Finally, all was quiet. Then: the flatulence. Boys and gas. This MUST be the subject for a future blog. It's too soon for me to even re-live it, much less expound on it. The laughter ensued as did my husbands anger and my despair. We eventually threatened to pack-up our things "right here and now" and head home. That pretty much did the trick.
A few random toots and scuffles between the sheets later, and everyone was asleep.
Right now, my daughter and I are awake, in the lobby at 4:30, unable to sleep, with nothing to do. She's sending me instant messages and I'm attempting to blog without my glasses. Did I mention they fell victim to my eldest son's affections today? While he put his arm around be as we gazed out past the lighthouse onto the lake at sundown--a picturesque moment indeed, his hand bumped the glasses off of my face and down they went. We could do nothing. We just laughed and I reassured him that it was probably time for new ones, anyway.
Of course, morning will roll around and all will be well. I'm sure the kids, being used to our empty threats, are sleeping soundly, looking forward to another day of exploring the town. I'm sure my husband is cursing me as he drifts off, promising himself once again, that we'll never, EVER make this mistake again and knowing full well we will. Again, and again, and again.
