So, the Hoffmans are on vacation, in a lovely cabin our friends have let us use for years, in upstate Potter County. We have our own pond, trails to hike, and life is good-but let’s take a look see at the hair raising, cluster eff of the days prior to our trip, as nobody does vacation preparation like us!
It seems like every year, our Spring vacation finds me sick-allergies, sinus infections, and last year? Lyme. That word gives me the shivas. This year was no different, and the torrents of rain fall did nothing to soothe what ailed me-hayfever, baby-and I got it bad, real bad. Suffering from inertia, a sore throat and incredible fatigue-I took to cleaning, laundry, flea demolition and grocery shopping. Because I am ill each Spring, and because my husband is a Saint, I am accustomed to Dwain doing everything and walking right out the door. This year? The poor man is working 60 hour weeks, I had to run the shit show, and this caused just a wee bit of tension in our home.
I am not complaining, just telling you all how it went down, how we began the trip we so desperately needed-there were times I lost my humanity, yes; but with good reason, damnit!
It’s not just the preparation for the two of us-it’s a three ring circus between packing for my husband, ensuring the cats (indoor and out) have enough food and water -I bought such a big drinking bowl at Walmart, that I fear our felines may drown after failed attempts at wetting their whistle-and I’m hoping the seven, count ’em, seven clean litter boxes will not be destroyed by our kitten Hank, Jr., who has only three legs, yet causes chaos wherever he goes. 🙂 I “mistakenly” left him in the house for Maya Angelou (cat) to play with. I’m sure I’ll hear about that on Wednesday, upon our return, when Dwain finds out. (Cue the Psycho music here.)
So, this is how it goes: while I am a nervous wreck in heels, worried about each and every detail, my husband is like a kid at Christmas, and he would and has left without nary a pair of underwear, so this time I packed like the boss I am, cough cough. Twelve packed bags later (yes, I am a creature of habit, and I like MY sheets, MY towels, MY, well, everything.
I had the house clean, the laundry done, the groceries bought-I made cookies and brownies because I…yada, yada, yada, like MY stuff-no store bought for me. Dwain was packed, I was packed, very little had to be done……and then, holy crap on a cracker-he was home. From work. Early. I heaved a heavy sigh and awaited the drill sergeant.
“HONEY Is everything ready to go?….did you get my Aleve PM? Do we have enough food, what should we do for dinner, ARE YOU READY???????? Oh, what the hell have you been doing?”
Oh, he said it jokingly, but I was a withered nub of nothing, had just been gifted my period, and I’m extremely anxious when we leave our home sweet home. Walking down to the truck with two heavy suitcases, my husband says:
“Did you remember the triple A batteries and my reading glasses?”
Oh, God of unending mercifulness, will you still love me if I bash my husband’s skull in with a box of batteries? No. I would never do that. In high school, I was a varsity crew coxswain. The coach knew what he was doing when he recruited me for the team-I have a voice that, when used correctly-could not only launch a thousand ships, but possibly be mistaken for a war cry at the Battalion Death March.
“SHUT. YOUR. PIE. HOLE. Here’s the deal, and I mean business, Dwain-until we are on the road? You say nothing to me. Got it?”
Yes. I knew it hurt his feelings. But we are so incredibly different when it comes to travelling, and let’s face the facts-I had had it! Why, why….it was too much, my nerves frayed to smithereens…..eventually, we did get into the truck, with just enough room for the dog….and my seventeen packs of gum. I chew gum like there’s no tomorrow; so much so that my man has decided to make me a “mouth cup” so all I have to do is put my head down and grab it with my teeth-because when I can’t find my gum? I can’t even discuss it without tearing up.
So, after three hours of driving, we arrive in the misty mountains of upstate Pennsylvania. I grab a few bags to start unpacking, when I inadvertently let the soaking wet dog into the house.
“Honey, look what you just did! The floor is wet now, Jeeze Louise……”
Sleep with one eye open, sweetheart. Paybacks are, indeed, a bitch.