Family Vacations
Women were made because after men were invented, the Lord realized that no one was there to organize anything. Adam probably just stood around talking about things and nothing got done and He said, “Oh my heck [because he was from Utah valley], we need a woman!”
I mention this because we just got back from vacation and I am the person who did al the work to put the whole trip together; who has given up her whole life to keep this family together, THE PERSON, in fact, who spent the last month with no grocery money so these people could go into 7-11 and buy $36 worth of Oreos and Sunchips.
My husband was appalled when I suggested that we had exactly one weekend this year when our last remaining babies would have days off at the same time and that we should maybe take a couple of days for a vacation. After all, he took two days off from work last year for us to have a first-ever family reunion and I thought he might be on a roll.
“Maybe I should just quit working completely so I can spend all my time going places with you and the kids! It’s no wonder I have to work all the time. You and the kids always have to go to all these expensive places. Who’s going to ay for all this?”
He says this if we rent a movie so it’s hard for me to take him too seriously when we actually ARE going to spend money.
As it turned out, Disneyland was the one place our 19 and 21 year-old sons wanted to go to. This is because, they will be happy to tell you in depth for hours, I was such a terrible mom when they were little and all they did was watch TV all the time while I talked on the phone. Whatever.
For whatever reason, they do, unfortunately, have an impressive command of the Disney ouvre. They can sing a depressing number of songs from the “Little Mermaid,” and “Hercules.” They even downloaded some ditties for us to hum on the way over. This will, hopefully, make you feel better if you have weird children. And we all do, let’s face it.
So off we go in our little green Suburban. The classic Mormon family on vacation, singing Disney songs, sipping Diet Coke, with the priesthood holder trying to make us feel as guilty as possible and trying to gain control of the situation.
Husbands are not pleasant the first couple of days of a family trip. First they think it represents a personal failure of self-control if you have to go to the bathroom—which always make me have to go to the bathroom, NOW. I bounce up and down until we get to that nice little red cinder block rest stop in the mountains before Cedar City, and then I’m so humiliated to be the one who has to stop that I hurry which makes it possible for me to have to go again in Beaver. That’s twice in the first three hours. But who’s counting?
Then there’s the fact that fathers generally don’t actually know what the kids act like on a day-to-day basis. Oh, they think they’re close because they take this little person with them once in a while to clean the car or take the lawn clipping to the recycling, but not, unless you’ve tried to feed lunch to a person who doesn’t like anything you have, or who seriously can’t decide whether or not their hair looks better with some minuscule rearrangement which is invisible to the naked eye, you don’t really know the frustration of kids. Let’s say it just would be better to strap everyone to the luggage rack, except, of course, THE DRIVER, because at least you could talk to the kids and remind them that this man is your father and that no matter how he acts, you have to understand that he loves you and that we’re a family and we get along.
Sound familiar?
Anyway, we finally get to D-land. By then the kids had taken over driving and we could listen to the wind in the back seat moaning about the price of gas in California ($1.75!), the prince of the hotel, the price of the tickets, the food, the film, the gifts. Gees, do we have to talk about it all the time?
Then, on the way home, my husband gets all teary-eyed and starts giving me “the lecture.” It goes like this: “You remember, Liz, that we won’t always have the kids with us. Family is the most important thing and its important that we spend time together like this. Now, this was a great vacation, wasn’t it? Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”
Deliver me from men.
I mention this because we just got back from vacation and I am the person who did al the work to put the whole trip together; who has given up her whole life to keep this family together, THE PERSON, in fact, who spent the last month with no grocery money so these people could go into 7-11 and buy $36 worth of Oreos and Sunchips.
My husband was appalled when I suggested that we had exactly one weekend this year when our last remaining babies would have days off at the same time and that we should maybe take a couple of days for a vacation. After all, he took two days off from work last year for us to have a first-ever family reunion and I thought he might be on a roll.
“Maybe I should just quit working completely so I can spend all my time going places with you and the kids! It’s no wonder I have to work all the time. You and the kids always have to go to all these expensive places. Who’s going to ay for all this?”
He says this if we rent a movie so it’s hard for me to take him too seriously when we actually ARE going to spend money.
As it turned out, Disneyland was the one place our 19 and 21 year-old sons wanted to go to. This is because, they will be happy to tell you in depth for hours, I was such a terrible mom when they were little and all they did was watch TV all the time while I talked on the phone. Whatever.
For whatever reason, they do, unfortunately, have an impressive command of the Disney ouvre. They can sing a depressing number of songs from the “Little Mermaid,” and “Hercules.” They even downloaded some ditties for us to hum on the way over. This will, hopefully, make you feel better if you have weird children. And we all do, let’s face it.
So off we go in our little green Suburban. The classic Mormon family on vacation, singing Disney songs, sipping Diet Coke, with the priesthood holder trying to make us feel as guilty as possible and trying to gain control of the situation.
Husbands are not pleasant the first couple of days of a family trip. First they think it represents a personal failure of self-control if you have to go to the bathroom—which always make me have to go to the bathroom, NOW. I bounce up and down until we get to that nice little red cinder block rest stop in the mountains before Cedar City, and then I’m so humiliated to be the one who has to stop that I hurry which makes it possible for me to have to go again in Beaver. That’s twice in the first three hours. But who’s counting?
Then there’s the fact that fathers generally don’t actually know what the kids act like on a day-to-day basis. Oh, they think they’re close because they take this little person with them once in a while to clean the car or take the lawn clipping to the recycling, but not, unless you’ve tried to feed lunch to a person who doesn’t like anything you have, or who seriously can’t decide whether or not their hair looks better with some minuscule rearrangement which is invisible to the naked eye, you don’t really know the frustration of kids. Let’s say it just would be better to strap everyone to the luggage rack, except, of course, THE DRIVER, because at least you could talk to the kids and remind them that this man is your father and that no matter how he acts, you have to understand that he loves you and that we’re a family and we get along.
Sound familiar?
Anyway, we finally get to D-land. By then the kids had taken over driving and we could listen to the wind in the back seat moaning about the price of gas in California ($1.75!), the prince of the hotel, the price of the tickets, the food, the film, the gifts. Gees, do we have to talk about it all the time?
Then, on the way home, my husband gets all teary-eyed and starts giving me “the lecture.” It goes like this: “You remember, Liz, that we won’t always have the kids with us. Family is the most important thing and its important that we spend time together like this. Now, this was a great vacation, wasn’t it? Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”
Deliver me from men.
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