Nothing

Recently my family and I took our annual pilgrimage to Schlitterbahn.  It is usually quite an adventure.  The adventure being in buying crap.  Packing crap.  Hauling crap.  Then spending two days yelling like crap.

The first year we went, which started seven years ago, we trekked only two kids; a ten and four-year old…and at that time I thought was a bit difficult-however I now realize it was a freaking BREEZE.  I could SIT and WATCH the kids play.

Now I have to actually do something. Like get up.  And help the lil I-wanna-play-a-game-beasts. A constant battle of wills.  What they will me to do, and what I will myself to do.

What do I wanna do?

N. O. T. H. I. N. G.

No sweet three-year old I don’t wanna watch you slide..for the hundredth time…down the ladybug looking thing.

I wanna do nothing.

No sweet eleven year old I don’t wanna go down the rip-your-skin-off tube slide.

I wanna do nothing.

No sweet husband, I don’t wanna take the tram to the other water park so that we can watch the three-year old go down a different looking bug of a slide..a hundred times.

I wanna do nothing.

No sweet almost-but-not-quite-adult-child I don’t wanna get your crap you left at the hotel room.

I wanna do nothing.

I don’t wanna pack more sandwiches, slice more watermelon, fold more towels, fill more sippy cups, hide more vodka in the Sparkletts water bottles…(WAIT..I do wanna do that)…I don’t wanna sit in the wave pool with a fake grin plastered on my face, pretending to be excited about the wave coming that will surely dump some poor grandpa on my lap, I don’t wanna eat ice cream, which is code for buy you ice cream, nor do I wanna take a child to the bathroom.  Again.

I wanna do nothing.

I just want to sit here, in this chair and do NOTHING.

Nothing that includes sipping hidden-sneaked-in vodka in a Sparkletts bottle.  All day long.

Then by some miracle, I wanna just get up, get my own towel and go to the hotel.  And go to bed.

I don’t wanna pack everyone’s crap, search for everyone’s crap, yell at everyone for losing their crap and then haul all their crap….all while dragging the littlest ones by whatever body part I can get a hold of..cause of course they don’t wanna leave. Too.  Damn.  Bad.

I don’t wanna give baths, cook dinner, clean-up, kiss foreheads and then spend forty-five minutes threatening to knock the crap out of kids until sleep finally ensues. Only to fall on the bed exhausted and realize I get to start the whole cycle over again the next day.

Yay.

Let me go ahead and get started packing the ice chest with crap for the next day then. Someone hand me the case of ‘Sparkletts’ please.

Cheers!