Leavin' On a Jet Plane

So, I'm going on a trip.

Not to Target. Or the mall. But a real, bonafide, take-off-your-shoes-and-get-on-a-plane trip. This is a big deal. Huge. The last time I went anywhere alone was three years ago. My husband — he of the two-three times a year mancations — always tells me to go wherever I want, take a break, relax.

Yeah, right.

He doesn't realize how different the planning is for our respective trips. When he goes on a trip, he just goes. He packs — no joke — 10 minutes before he's supposed to leave, and then he's gone. I pick up the slack.

If I want to go, I can't just skip away. I have to enlist my parents to help with the kids. Then, I have to rearrange the carpool, send an incredibly detailed e-mail (because my husband forgets everything) that includes each kid's schedule and important phone numbers. I actually sent a copy of the e-mail to my sister-in-law so I would have some sort of evidence to minimize my culpability with Child Protective Services when the local TV stations break the story about the trio of hoodlums terrorizing Tucson, wreaking havoc in the streets.

Oh, and then on top of all that, I have to make sure everything's covered at my job job.

Gee, is it any wonder I haven't gone on a solo trip in three years? It's exhausting.

But, this is an important trip for me. I'm going to visit my oldest and dearest friend right in between our birthdays, which hit a significant double-digit this year.

We're going to just kick back and enjoy not being responsible for anyone else but ourselves. We're hunkering down in the charming town of Seaside, Ore., which is cold and rainy and the kind of place where Edward Cullen could very well be waiting in the wings to whisk me away from the domestic drudgery. And, I just might let that undead hunk do it because so far it's not even 8 a.m. and I've dealt with: a peed-in bed, a burping contest, an Itchy and Scratchy-type fight, an unbelievable grumpy 10-year-old who thinks she's already a teenager and woke up on the wrong side of the bed again AND one of 'em just vomited in the hallway. Good times, good times.

Wow, I just read over this post. Sounds kinda harsh. Maybe I need a stiff drink. Or a trip.