I’ve kvetched, before, about cutesy modern words. Perhaps because I had unconsciously blocked it out, I left “staycation” off that list. I understand what it means, and think the concept itself is a fine one, but we couldn’t come up with some less precious way of referring to it?
And, this week, I had one myself… though I actually did leave the house.
Emily is still at camp. Words cannot express my gratitude that she has been away for the worst of the moving/packing/organizing nightmare, both because it spares her some stress and because navigating one child through this is quite challenging enough, thanks… two children means the stress and the bickering increase by something much greater than a factor of two, and I’m not entirely certain I would be able to avoid eating at least a few of my family members. Each time she has gone to camp, I’ve tried to come up with some fun stuff for Jacob to do at home, and this year that has branched out to include sleepovers.
Which he loves. This is the kid who is still in my room in the middle of the night at least five or six nights a week, and from what I’ve heard he still does wake up and look for some reassurance in the wee hours whilst away. But he’s able to settle right back to sleep, and otherwise just has the time of his life. Which is wonderful, even when it makes me a little maudlin at his insistence on growing up so much faster than I’m ready for.
Among Jacob’s list of sleepover destinations was my friend Jenny, who has a 7-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter (and 1-year-old son, too, but he’s still in the cute-baby stage, as far as Jacob is concerned; not yet a viable playmate). Great, sure, no problem… except my seizure-can’t-drive routine made it very difficult to get him there and home again, since they live on the other side of Boston. So, at first, it was a logical, logistical sort of decision, for me to catch a ride to Boston with one of Willem’s golf-weekend buddies, and then for her to bring Jacob and me as far as the new apartment on Tuesday, from whence Willem could retrieve us.
Then I realized that, logistics aside, I really, really wanted to go. Jenny is one of my closest friends, and I’ve never left a get-together with her thinking, “Well, gawd, that could have ended three hours sooner…” I’m pretty confident we can tolerate each other for two days, and there are rumors of playgrounds with the kids, birthday cake for her youngest, a break from the relocation preparations, and maybe time away from the kids on Monday… even, perhaps, time at a spa…
Immediately after returning home, I’ll need to dive into the next phase of the move, which involves finishing most of the packing, taping miles of trim, and preparing for a bedroom-painting extravaganza scheduled for Wednesday. And I’m sure I’ll immediately throw myself right back into the panic and stress around the several million other details that have to be attacked before August 6th (the Date of the Moving Truck). But, just for a little while, I’m giving myself a break. I thought maybe this weird newfangled idea I’ve read about, the one called sanity, might be worth trying out, for a change…
(As an aside, writing this post in advance and scheduling it to appear in a few days has been a strange, strange experience, and I keep discovering new errors in formatting and strange AutoSaves. Apologies in advance for any confusion in publishing… I’d never had problems like that with WordPress before.)