Post Vacation Wrap-Up

I'm back, thank Christ. 5 days in "the wilderness" (read: air conditioned motor home, 3 pools, 2 jacuzzis and an arcade) was plenty for this sunburned city girl.

We arrived Monday around noontime and checked in. "Canwegoswimmingcanwegoswimmingcanwegoswimming?" came from the backseat in stereo. 2 hours in the car, constant sibling violence ("He's touching me!!! He's touching me!!!), and having listened to The Incredibles playing on the DVD player for the whole trip, and I was plenty ready to let them sleep with the fishes.

Our days of fun in the sun consisted of trips to the pool and the fully equipped playground next door, a visit to the nearby amusement park and zoo, perusing the goods in the little shops along the beach (I found designer knockoffs, which partially salvaged the hell that is disguised as a "family vacation"), mini golf, candlepin bowling, and fireworks. And yes, it's all on film, documented for future examination by therapists. We're good parents, and here's our proof, fuckers.

The trip had it's moments, I'll sum up:

• Youngest Child insisted on going down the slide while holding onto 2 toys, leaving him with no hands to slow himself down. He was wearing those slippery basketball shorts, so he ended up flying off the end of the slide and landing almost a solid 3 feet away. As he was laid out flat on the sand, wailing at the top of his lungs, STILL clinging to those fucking toys, my husband looked at me in all seriousness and said "Wow. Those are some fast pants." Hilarity ensued, and the other parents glared at us for finding humor in the situation. In the words of Tucker Max "Fuck them if they can't take a joke."
• Oldest Child suddenly ran to the bathroom in the motor home, and urgently yelled from behind the door "Daddy, can you poop in this toilet???" (referring to the fact that the last camper we stayed in had a rather sensitive septic system that was only good for #1). My husband, without hesitation, yells back "Yeah, I'll be there in a second!" Oldest Child was not as amused as we were.
• I took the kids through a fun house at the amusement park, where they had a fine time...that was until we came to the giant spinning tube that you have to walk through to get out. Oldest and Youngest went through without issue, while Middle Child screamed like a girl and ran in the other direction. I attempted to physically drag him through it by the arms, both of us ending up ass over teakettle, and having to crawl out, much to the amusement of passers-by. Moral of the story: Fuck us if WE can't take a joke.

Beyond that, it was fairly uneventful. We did, however, discover that small towns have fairly odd names for their businesses:

• Curl Up & Dye hair salon (now, I thought that this was just a thing of fiction from that movie "The Runaway Bride". Someone ACTUALLY used the name. Classic.)
  
• Blow Brothers Septic Service

• Paid parking is named after "that guy who sits in the folding beach chair and collects the money". On one street, we saw Mike's Parking, Steve's Parking, George's Parking, and Anthony's Parking.
  
• Poofbottoms Fine Children's Clothing (poor children "fart"; rich children have "poofbottoms")
• CatWalk Women's Clothing. Doesn't seem funny right? Well you didn't see the sign, which had a cat's ASS as the A, with the butthole serving as the center. I shit you not. My husband and I almost had to pull over, we were laughing so hard. Might as well just call it the Cat's Ass and get it over with.

There were so many others...if more come to mind, I'll be sure to post. But you get the idea; rich people who live in small coastal towns are pretty fucking freaky.

When we got home this morning, I almost dropped to my knees and kissed the driveway, I was that happy to be home. My own bed, a COMPUTER...heaven...too bad we couldn't get in, as husband lost the house keys. After spending 20 minutes digging through the car, we realized that we were going to have to send Oldest Child through a window to unlock the door from the inside. Then came the final straw...

"I'm not doing it unless you raise my allowance."

WHAT THE FUCK!!! If I'd EVER tried to blackmail my parents, I would have been beaten within an inch of my life.

We told him that unless he wanted to sleep in the yard, he'd better get his ass up to that window and do as he was told. He knows we're crazy enough to follow through with a threat like that, so that was the end of his extortion scheme.

Still haven't found the keys, but I can't seem to muster up the energy to care. I've got my computer, everything else can go to hell for a few hours. Husband scolded me for turning on the computer before I even bothered with the air conditioner, but I could give a shit less. If he wants me sane, then he'll allow me my vices.