This summer vacation I had planned? Let's just say I'm revising my plans a bit. This thing is becoming a staycation. I am starting to feel that all efforts to leave my home are cursed. First we had the Memorial Day beach debacle. Then, a couple weeks ago, we took a camping trip along the Blue Ridge Parkway. On the first night in the campground, Mia would not go to sleep. For hours and hours she thrashed around, adjusting her sleeping bag over and over and over, yelling "It's not right!" Nothing on this earth could make that sleeping bag right. Finally, it was almost midnight, we were desperate to go to sleep, and Mr. SOC kind of lost it. Actually, we both did. Really, anyone in their right mind would have been insane by that point. So Mr. SOC tells Mia that she's going to have to sleep in the car, and he starts angrily removing her from the tent as she screams. And I'm trying to intervene and tell him to calm down, and at some point in the flailing, I accidentally get hit in the face, so I'm yelling "Ouch!" After a couple minutes, we get things calmed down, and I think the whole scene scared Mia straight, because she laid down and went to sleep. A few minutes later, as we're ready to finally go to sleep, a couple of sheriff's deputies show up at our tent. Apparently, our campground neighbors thought we were child abusers. The deputies threatened to take us to jail, and insisted on checking on Mia (to make sure she was alive, I guess) before finally leaving us. Making the whole situation even better was that Mia had a giant bandage on her forehead because she had fallen in the driveway a few days earlier and needed stitches.
And that brings us to yesterday, when I decided it would be a good idea to take a day trip to the beach. Mia had had another night of sleep similar to the one in the tent (WTF?), and we hadn't slept much either. But we decide to drag our asses there anyway. Can't miss out on fun! We drive two and a half hours there, haul our stuff onto the sand, and spend maybe 20 minutes before Mia starts crying. She has developed a mortal fear of the water and won't go near it. Then she starts complaining about her eye. It's red and watering, and it's just not getting better. She's crying and crying, her nose is running, we don't have any tissues. After about a half hour of that, we packed up our stuff, got back in the car and went home. Fail!
For some reason I am compelled to go places. To the beach, camping, sailing. I don't fully understand this need, considering the stress of packing, driving, getting Mia to sleep, and just the general stress of traveling. I guess I feel that if I'm sitting at home, I'm not taking advantage of all the world has to offer. If I stay home, I am complacent, unadventurous, stuck. When we're home, there are always chores to do, dishes to wash, errands to run. When we go away, our weekend becomes a vacation. Plus, I don't want to miss out on anything. If we had gone somewhere, we might have had the time of our lives, but we'll never know if we don't go. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with enjoying camping and the beach. But I'm wondering if this is more of a compulsion with me, a sort of grasping and wanting, a way of trying to fill some hole. Instead of traveling, I should be meditating, learning to feel at peace where I am.
So we're still going on our week's vacation at the beach, and we're still going to visit my family. But no more impromptu trips to the beach for a while. I promise.
I laughed out loud at the whole story about Mia and the camping trip. You need to save these things. Maybe one day you'll write a book!
Posted by: Bev | July 13, 2009 at 01:58 PM