It's Just Different Now

It's the "secret" time and I'm feeling a little guilty for working some people {like my sister} into a minor tizzy over the whole thing because really it is mostly a matter of me over thinking everything and it's not much of a big deal.

I went to Florida with a girlfriend over the weekend.

There. I said it.

So here is what the the big deal was about:

{just imagine me saying this mumbly and under my breath and very quickly} A couple of weeks ago my sister very off handedly asked me if Josh and I wanted to go to Florida with her and her husband. Josh and I decided there was no way were we going to crash their vacation and I never brought it up. Also, my mom {who I love very much} has really been asking me to travel {mostly} across the country with one or both of her grandchildren to visit. She has even offered to help pay. And I have not scheduled it.

So, I was feeling horribly guilty tripping off to Florida when there are scores of other people that I should be visiting. Taking time for, shh, myself.

I know. I know. I know.

So with that off my chest, this next part is where everyone declares me crazy and breaks up with me as their invisible blog friend. Or real life friend or whichever.

I don't think I like vacations.*

After some considerate, deliberate, self analysis, I feel comfortable saying that.

Background: Before meeting my husband, I went on vacations. Real ones. Substantial ones that were great and relaxing and worth every penny. Then I met Josh and we had a whirlwind, military affected romance, that quickly became a romance consumed with buying our first house, having our first baby, buying our second house, having our second baby. The truth is that financially we couldn't afford a vacation. And that was okay with us. We really wanted those houses and those babies. And plane tickets were reserved for precious visits from my stepson and travels to weddings.

But everyone around us always advised "You need to go on vacation." "It's good for your soul." "It makes you a better wife/mother/husband/dad/person/employee/whatever." "We love our vacations and couldn't imagine not getting away". I could go on.

There was a part of me that wondered if I was really missing out on something idyllic and if I was underestimating some subconscious need to actually take a real vacation.

So a good friend of mine asked if I wanted to go to Florida with her. It sounded great, I talked it over with Josh, and signed up.

I signed up for four days away from my boys. Sun and beach and pool and shopping and sleeping in and eating out. I was really excited. I had never been away from my little guys longer than one night before.

Truth: It was too long for me. I missed them so much that it ached. I couldn't sleep longer than 7:30am, despite all of my best efforts. Awake and channel surfing for something to put me back to sleep landed me on the Disney Channel and Mickey Mouse Play House. I immediately was transported to my living room at home with my bumbly pajama clad guys singing "Playhouse Disney" and screaming "Hey Toodles!!" and my heart and my guts hurt. I wanted to be there with them. More than I wanted to doll up for the pool or beach. More than I wanted a froofry drink.

I was (and still am) really surprised by this because I never considered myself to be the can't-cut-the-umbilical-cord type of mother. These feelings are completely foreign to me. Unanticipated. Unsolicited.

Also, I am not the pool/beach all day type of gal. I have about 5 degrees where I am actually comfortable. After that I'm either too hot or too cold. But I hate getting in the pool to cool off. And I hate to burn, so I'd prefer to sit in the shade.

Clearly, I'm the most boring damn Florida date any party friend could hope to have. I suck. I wish that loved I that stuff. But I don't get the cost vs. benefit. I don't get it. I'd rather buy a piece of furniture or just go on a really great overnight (local) date with my ball and chain.

ugg. sigh. sorry. "And," in a rare quote from Friends, "my diamond shoes are too tight and my wallet is too small for my fifties..."

What a bratty, whiney post. I'm sorry.

*I don't want to imply that I had a bad time. Because I didn't. I did have a good time. And I enjoyed the opportunity to take the vacation, the company, the accommodations, the restaurants, the chance to start (and finish) three whole books that didn't rhyme. The uninterrupted shopping and browsing. I really had a great time. And holy hell, I had some Orange French Toast that was to die for! {Seriously will be trying to recreate that recipe...}

Mostly this post is just my determination that personally, I don't think I was missing out as much as people would have had me believe... I am really okay with a vacation-less future existence.

I had great vacations before and I remember them fondly, but I don't need to have them back. I am okay without them. I am different now than I was then and I can't attempt to push myself into a vacation mold that I just don't fit into. {did I really just say "fondly"?}

Is anyone else out there just not a vacation-er? Is anyone out there even still with me here? Could anyone even muscle through this post? Congrats, man. I don't even think I can re-read this beast....