A Vacation From My Vacation

Well, here I am, post vacation and recovering.  I’m staring down the barrel of a long weekend with my hubby home, and a final (thank God) week of summer “vacation.”  It isn’t my vacation.  Neither was the six days we spent in Maine last week my vacation.

Luckily, my in-laws, who were scheduled to visit this weekend, cancelled.  And my mom, who had spent the week in Maine with us, has gone home (and I’ll wager she is beyond happy to be there).

Anyway, here is a quick recap of our vacation:

The trip to and from is always painful; hours in a car with a bad back are a bitch, and my hubby’s driving…well, I’ll take the high road here and just say that it isn’t to my liking.

We get there, and right away I turn on my computer.  Sure, I knocked out a good chunk of words on my M/M novel, but now I want internet; namely You Tube to feed my music addiction.  The kids had watched movies in the car and my mom was in the front seat while I was sandwiched between two boys repeating “personal space!” and “hands to yourselves!” so the radio was off the entire ride.

That’s a long time for me.  I like my music.  So, while I am making three beds and unpacking, I want some tunes.  We’ve been to this cabin for 4 years now, and there has always been a network connection from a restaurant up the street.  Well, lo and behold, there is no longer any available WiFi.

A walk up the road in which I had my computer and stood outside said restaurant resulted in no better signal.  That was later in the week, by the way.  I didn’t immediately trek out looking for internet.  I’m not that psycho.

So, I huff and puff, and so begins the crappiest writer’s retreat in the history of the written word.  Actually, I managed to finish said novel while I was there, cranking out about 5K words, but let me not recommend a writer’s retreat involving 3 little kids, a mother who loves to talk about politics, and a husband with zero tolerance for little kids.  It’s almost as distracting as an internet connection.

Anyway, on our first day there we must go to the beach.  My hubby very astutely removes our daughter’s glasses (2 month-old, $300 glasses that replaced a snapped in-half pair that cost even more) and he walked them to the spot where my mom and kid #2 were playing in the sand.

English: a beach in maine on a clear day with ...

English: a beach in maine on a clear day with a sailboat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He hung them on the side of my mom’s purse without telling her about it.

We play and splash and eventually walk down the long beach to the rocks on the end to look for stinky sea stuff.  My mom notices a pair of glasses that fall from her purse onto the rocks and picks them up.  When we get back to the cabin (2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, cute, tiny sardine can we call temporary home) she notices that the lens is missing from the glasses.

I rant and rave and, in all likelihood, swear in front of kids.  The oldest proceeds to squint at the TV for the duration of the week.  Some lucky bastard will eventually find a sweet piece of optical sea glass.

Fast forward through days of beach in the morning, whining 5-year-old ALL THE TIME, a walk to whatever destination gets us out of that freakin’ house each afternoon, hand washing dishes, no A/C, still no wireless, sand EVERYWHERE, hand washing clothes in the sink and hanging it out on a line, six people, one bathroom, soggy bed for my already hurtin’ back.

A clock radio with crappy reception is my only glimmer of happiness until day five.  Then came the miracle of the salt water taffy.

We had purchased a box of Goldenrod Kisses on day 4.  It’s the fancy taffy they pull on a fancy machine right in front of the fancy store window.  Now, in the past, I would buy a box of taffy from a random convenience store as an afterthought.  “Oh, we’re in Maine.  I should buy this horrible candy.” You know what I’m talking about.

San Francisco Salt Water Taffy from Pier 39:

San Francisco Salt Water Taffy from Pier 39: (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, I thought I was stepping it up a notch by buying the fancy shit.  Anyway, we get back to the cabin eventually, and I try one piece (okay, maybe 2) and then I swear it off.  It is by far the hardest taffy I have ever experienced.  Think of those Mary Jane candies you used to hate at Halloween, but ate anyway when all the other candy was gone, only like they were in the freezer first.

The kids are all over them, but none of them have dental work to pull out, so I let it go.  I’m all about maintaining the peace for my week in hell paradise.

Anyway, next day, hubby takes one chomp of a taffy and pulls out a golden crown.  They aren’t called Goldenrod Kisses for nothin’.  I apologize and commiserate and secretly celebrate because it is my ticket to freedom.  We are out of there a day early to make some doctor appointments.  I left the box of taffy with a handwritten warning complete with “Enjoy!” for the next suckers guests.

Thank you, Maine.  It’s been real.  It’s been fun.  But it hasn’t ever been real fun.

Next family vacation will be a three-day weekend (max), at a new venue, with highfalutin amenities.  That’s about all the family time and roughin’ it I can manage.


About Kimber Vale

Author of romance of all stripes. View all posts by Kimber Vale

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