This summer I’ll be taking the kids to the east coast to visit my in-laws. When my IL’s got divorced, MIL hauled my husband and his sister to the west coast to start a new life or some such crap. Everyone else still lives in the east. FIL is building a new house and will be putting his current house up for sale in the fall – the house with the private beach, the house surrounded by water on 3 sides, the house right down the street from a very cool (and well-known for miles and miles around) bar.
My husband can’t go with us, because he’s not willing to take a vacation. It’s not an asshole thing. It’s that he is not completely certain that he can’t trust his employees to run things to his standards while he’s gone. His second is command is my brother, but my brother is being a total asshat to customers, so he’s not way up there on the trust list currently. I’m hoping things will change and things will improve with new hires, because I just realized the most horrible thing ever. I won’t have anyone to walk down the beach to the really cool bar with me. Fuck. I love that place. I saw Greg Brady there a few years ago, but he wasn’t wearing his awesome bell bottoms, and he didn’t have that fabulous 70’s perm. My IL’s don’t go to bars, and my oldest won’t be 21 by then. Hmmm…maybe I should get her a fake ID. It would probably make me the coolest mom ever.
I’m not at all worried about flying across the country with 4 kids. The youngest will be 10 by then. They’re mostly good and they’re easily bribable with candy. Plus, we have enough electronics to entertain an entire planeload of people. The flying thing is the easy part. It’s the other things that are scary:
1. private beach = needing 15 sets of eyes to keep track of really fast kids.
2. private beach = about 805,000 more crunches needed to get rid of this baby belly that I developed around the time the youngest turned 9. Why the fuck it came then is a mystery and has nothing to do with sugar and beer. Nothing, I tell you.
3. Fire Island. Last time was great since an Irish professional soccer team was about 2 feet away and they were all hot. The time before that, the IL’s accidentally took my 2 older kids to a gay nude beach. There is nothing wrong with being gay or nude, but the people on this particular beach were all rather old, and no one wants to see ball sacs that end at a man’s knees. I’m pretty sure even their significant others don’t want to see that.
4. The hundreds of aunts, uncles, and cousins are sometimes odd. One of them moos at me, because I’m from Montana. Some of them are racist and very homophobic. I will probably bite my own tongue off trying not to go into full on debate mode. I can’t bite my tongue off, because after they stop talking, I’ll need to go over it all with the kids about why we don’t judge people based on things like color or sexuality. We only judge you if you are a moron.
There’s really good things too.
1. Private beach! duh…
2. Public beach with eye candy right down the street.
3. humidity. I live in the desert, so sometimes humidity is the best thing ever.
4. They don’t let me cook. It’s a real vacation.
5. The house is too small for my idiot SIL, so I don’t have to deal with her constant whining about how everything has to be her way or the world will end and she is so perfect and any of us who don’t bow down to her are just losers. Should I be disappointed? I dont’ think so.
6. Private beach AND beer and private beach.
I wonder if I can leave today.