My husband Steve went on vacation this weekend… without the family.  He didn’t even invite us.  More importantly, he didn’t even invite ME!  His initially plan was to take my fuel efficient car, but when I suggested that he take a couple of the kids with him and maybe even the dog, he had a sudden change of plans and bought a plane ticket instead.

I shouldn’t complain.  I left him home with the kids when I flew home to Hawaii for my parents 50th Wedding Anniversary two years ago.  Of course we didn’t have our nephew at the time, nor the dog and therefore I shall complain, vehemently!

Steve is not being very sympathetic or apologetic at all.  He sends a steady stream of  text messages and pictures via the cell phone of him here and him there; of him eating this and him eating that!  (Okay, he may have gotten the idea from my visit to Hawaii when I bombarded him with pictures of the many feasts I had engorged myself at) He and his brother did this, he and his sister are going to do that!  It’s making me sick!  (and green with envy!)

I’ve been working the entire time.  My house is a mess.  It smells like a wet dog.  There are no clean dishes in the house.  The closest to a conversation I’ve had with any of the kids lately is ‘Hi’, or ‘Bye’ as we pass through the revolving front door.  The dog hangs her head down like a vulture making me wonder where her ‘guilty conscience’ is hiding.

Upon his return I shall meet my husband in the doorway, tossing him a quick ‘Bye’ in response to his ‘Hi’, and I shall embark on a vacation of my own, without kids, nephew, husband or dog.

Oh, who am I kidding.  Even after all these years I have a hard time enjoying myself unless I am sharing it with the kids.  It’s a mommy thing, a Mother’s Curse of sorts.  I’m thinking Estes Park is probably very beautiful this time of year and all the babies should be out and about.

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