Our vacation is over. We had a truly great time. My son and I spent the first few days visiting family in Mississippi. My husband joined us for the second half of our vacation where we enjoyed some beautiful weather in Arizona with friends. They have a daughter just a few months older than our guy and those two were a hoot together. Imagine lots of screeching, squealing, chasing, and conversations that didn’t make a lick of sense to the adults… you get the idea.
Alas all good things must come to an end. Or so they say. Who, I don’t know. Some pessimist probably.
I’m calling it Spring Break but let’s be honest, our days of a true Spring Break are over. We are parents. This is Spring Break redefined.
Spring Break is a beach getaway when you’re of an age where you feel reasonably proud of your bikini body. It is not a week spent thinking up excuses to not have to wear a bathing suit.
Spring Break is about oiling yourself up to attract the sun with zero regard for a future of leathery skin. It is not about liberally applying sunscreen every morning even when you’ll hardly be outdoors and using two different moisturizers at night.
Spring Break is getting all dolled up for a night out on the town. It is not staying in to watch Toy Story because your son is in full meltdown mode and unlikely to do well in public.
Spring Break is hours spent trying on clothes and giggling in dressing rooms. It is not crouching on the floor in the mall wondering if your jeans are displaying your butt crack while eating a soft pretzel and sharing lemonade with a toddler who most certainly backwashes.
Spring Break is wet t-shirt contests. It is not finding yourself saying “Am I being peed on? Am I being peed on? Is he peeing on me?” and then changing your shirt (when you didn’t pack enough anyway) because you were indeed peed on.
Spring Break is partying all night. It is not a Twitter party Saturday morning.
Spring Break is staying up until after midnight drinking pina coladas with friends. It is not drinking a beer as soon as you get the kiddo to bed and then calling it a day at 9 pm.
Spring Break is sleeping in and waking up at noon. It is not getting up at 6 am after a night spent sharing a bed with your two year old who kicks in his sleep.
Spring Break is a quick flight or drive to your destination. Or if it’s a lengthy day of travel it’s one where you get to sleep and read magazines during it. It is not an 8 hour drive, another 8 hour drive, a 2 hour drive, a 3 hour flight, a 1 hour drive, another 1 hour drive, a 4 hour flight, a 45 minute stop because of inclement weather, a 1 hour flight and, finally, a 2 hour drive. Oh, and let’s not forget that when you do land your husband announces he’s googled the pilot and the man almost died a few months ago when he crashed his crop duster. For real.
Now I am not complaining. (Except about the travel. I am totally complaining about that.) The idea of being out at a club in a teeny tiny dress makes me cringe. I am not eighteen. Nor do I want to be. Most days.
If a successful Spring Break has morphed into getting my daily Starbucks fix, potty training, having enough toys to entertain the little guy while we’re out, eating a nice meal with a glass of wine, and achieving 8 hrs of shut-eye, I’ll take it.
Though I wouldn’t turn down the chance to sleep until 10 and wake up to a mimosa.