Even though I don't have a formal job, I don't wake up each and every day with the feeling that I am on vacation. I occassionally think, though, that I ought to more than I do.
I have virtually no schedule imposed upon me, other than meals and naps, which can be skipped or delayed or snacked right on through. The two days of school Andrew attends at the homes of friends is pretty lax about arrival and departure times (we are always late to arrive, usually late to go). In between, we can do whatever we please.
I woke up this morning feeling like I was on vacation, a feeling left over from the family dinner party the previous night and Brigham's 6pm arrival time. The anxiety-driven dreams that Emma had awakened Andrew at 6am and taken him downstairs to play and watch tv were nothing more than that. In fact, Emma arose at 8 and I had to rouse Andrew at 9. He was grumpy only until he registered Emma at the foot of his bed.
Dressed in matching outfits (well, I was not wearing navy shorts with red bikes on them), we bought doughnuts ("choc-let! spinkles!" demanded by Will) as we blew out of town on our way to the zoo.
The stop at my parents' house to meet up with my sister and the rest of her kids proved fatal to the journey. The kids ran through my parents' backyard, discovering "secret passages" in what my dad terms the "wild" parts of the property (they are), jumped on the tramp and hit each other with foam swords. I mostly sat on the deck in the sun and talked with my family.
My favorite image was of my dad sitting out in the yard in a lawn chair spraying the kids with a hose as they tried to run past. It turns out that he used the "power wash" setting when they tried to obtain the "gold." Games with dad always involve an element of terror and potential physical injury. "Andrew was very brave. He ran right through the power wash," he reported.
After I coerced Will into sleep, Missy and I watched probably 30 minutes of Jim Gaffigan videos on youtube (which I tried to add here but am unable to) while we occassionally glanced out the window to see that the screaming and crying we heard was just Tommy.
Right now, the kids are playing ("I'm going to shoot you in the face!"), my parents are lying in bed watching a true crime show about a murderer, and I am playing on the computer undisturbed.
Meanwhile, Brigham will be home in a few hours from a long day of work and two hours of commuting via three different modes of transportation.