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I just finished my Corporate Identity class on Saturday (final grade: A!). I’ve got two weeks before the next class starts, which I am declaring The World’s Shortest Summer Vacation.

My vacation is off to an inauspicious beginning: Not So is sick. He has a cold, poor thing. Do you hear that? That is sympathy. I am sympathetic, because I am a good wife. I am certainly not inwardly irritated because I now have two dependents to coddle, one of whom claimed he would vacuum and clean over the weekend but, inexplicably, did not. (Damn Happy Fun Baby. It’s as though he has no sense of responsibility.)

No, I am filled with sympathy. Being sick sucks. Not So’s upstairs right now, trying to get some rest while propped upright on a mountain of pillows so he doesn’t drown in his own snot. That, folks? That is not a good time. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially someone whose help I could use with, for example, the vacuuming and the cleaning of the house.

I feel comparitively footloose and fancy-free, what with the not having a cold and all. I feel, in fact, well enough to go out and play. The fact that I had a playdate scheduled for today would have worked out delightfully, had the baby not begun showing signs of inheriting his father’s Cold of Doom. Here’s a thing you do when you’re a parent: you stay home at the slightest sign of illness so as not to infect other kids, because bringing your sneezing, clinging baby to a public get-together is a definite faux-pas. You stay home and you do things like mopping and washing all the furniture covers to minimize the spread of germs, and then you turn your head, and in the space of that moment your angelic child somehow finds a used tissue (which, hello! Shouldn’t be within reach of the baby anyway!) and puts it in his mouth, despite the fact that you’re running toward him shouting “…Nooooooooo!” in slow motion. You think dear lord children are disgusting and you also think there is no way he’s not getting sick. And your child? He just laughs at you, like duh, mom.

Perhaps I will take a virtual vacation. I’ve got two weeks; where should I go? Since it’s all in my mind (like so many other things) I don’t have any financial or practical constraints. Well, guys? And suggestions?

technorati tags:virtual vacation, sick, illness, snot, tissue, disgusting, cleaning

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Day One: 4:00 am
Four hours of sleep. Mexico, here we come!

12:00 pm
My feet are so swollen, oh my god. When did I become the type of person whose feet swell? This never happened before I was pregnant. Never.

3:00 pm
I’m so glad my baby isn’t one of the poor kids wailing about the pressure change. So glad he likes his pacifier. Aren’t babies supposed to be hard to travel with? He’s a breeze.

4:00 pm
Dear lord it’s hot. Like breathing under a blanket. I need a nap and some water. And…that’s the line for customs? But it’s so hot! And I need a nap! Oh my god, this is hell.

On that illustrious note, our vacation began. We were spending five days at an all-inclusive resort about an hour out of Cancun, but first we had to, you know, get there.

Day Two: 10:30 am
The baby screamed all. night. long. And then I overslept - stupid time change - and the breakfast buffet is closed. I must eat or I will die. This vacation sucks.

11:00 am
Oh, the grill is open all day. That’s not so bad. And mmm, quesadillas. Who’d have thought of quesadillas for breakfast?

12:00 pm
The pool is divine. And have you seen the ocean?

5:00 pm
This vacation is awesome.

Once we got into the swing of things, the resort rocked. Happy Fun Baby took to the water like a duck to…water. Except without the feathers. And with slightly less quacking. As the days passed, my pasty white skin slowly tanned to a less pasty shade of white. I saw a shimmer in my hair that I originally thought was gray, but as it turned out was simply a blonde strand. Sun! Bleaches hair! Who’d have thunk? Not So and I got to take romantic walks along white sand beaches, listening to the crash of the surf and the wailing of the baby, and then hurried back to the air-conditioned room to drink bottles of water and try to decipher Mexican TV. And at some point I managed to finish not one but two books. Grown-up books. Books with no pictures. I am a party animal.

The ocean was so beautiful it was unreal. I’d never been to the Caribbean before, and the clear turquoise water was amazing. And warm! Oceans should always be warm. I was telling Not So, if the ocean in Santa Cruz had been warm I might have been tempted to take up surfing. And not, for example, have become a pale, moody goth. Just as an example.

So batteries = recharged, and life = good. Cranky Mama’s cranky meter is at an all-time low. Let that be a lesson to you, universe: when the going gets tough, the tough sends me to an all-inclusive resort.