Friday, March 13, 2009

Spring Break

Spring break has officially begun in the Griswold household.

Which means I'm avoiding my children.

Hey. When's MY spring break?


So I've decided to go on a vacation.

I know.

You all are thinking, "Holy crap, Colleen's really cracked. Maybe I should shoot her an email or something."

Yes. Well.

A comment would be nice.

Just saying. It gets lonely in here sometimes.

Anywhoo, my vacation. I'm heading out tomorrow morning. Or maybe tonight, once the last kid's asleep. It'll be easier to slip out the back door without anyone yelling at me to bring them a drink or a lost stuffy while I'm down there. The Husband is going away to teach a course and won't be back for a few days, but I think the kids will be ok. There's cereal in the pantry.

Where am I headed?

A little place called "No Children Allowed". It's a smallish island off the coast of sanity. Only mothers allowed. The entrance fee has already been paid. (If you're a mother, you know exactly what it's cost.) Stretch marks get you upgraded to a sticky free room. Grey roots earn a ketchup free meal. It is imperative that you pack your bathing suit as they need fuel for the bonfire on opening night. There are no migraines allowed, nor PMS, skinny jeans or perky breasts.

I've packed the bare essentials. My writing notebook, my favourite pen and 8 pounds of chocolate. I'm going to park my backside under a palm tree and finish that stinking book. Which, by the way, I'm not talking to at the moment.

It's complicated.

(How a book for an 8 year old is complicated, I have no idea, but there it is.)

The best thing about the resort is there are plenty of palm trees. And Spring Break is 8 months long.

Oh, and there's this cool force field thingy that makes it impossible for any children to access anyone's email, cell phone, Facebook, twitter or blog to ask if they can have a pop. Or to whine that a sibling is looking at them funny, won't get off the computer or keeps repeating everything they say.

Care to join me?

I'll share my chocolate. Because it's not Lent on the No Children Allowed Island.

Don't forget to tell me what you're packing so I can leave enough room in the back of the eggplant. Don't bother to pack a jacket.


Anonymous said...

It sounds heavenly. Will there be hammocks, lap desks (for writing, I hate writing at a funny angle) and something with lemonade and alcohol? I don't care about the umbrellas in the drink unless they're edible.

Maybe Sting could bring his guitar and Zach Helm can lead a writing workshop. OOh, and then we'll all work on our treadmill choreography when we hit writer's block.

I'm so there. The pantry's full, the kids will be fine. I call it building their brain map for problem-solving. How is that going to happen if we do everything for them?

colleen4 said...

Oh, there are plenty of hammocks, etc, etc. And that's a big ten four on the liquor.

I'm so glad to hear your children are as capable as mine when it comes to their independence.