can you plant in the sand?
I waited until the last minute (huge surprise) to start looking for a place to vacation this year. There were several reasons for this:
1. I procrastinate like a mutha.
2. Being married to Mr. Incredible, and he being on a superhero’s really weird and demanding schedule, I don’t always know until we are under a month till vacation time whether or not said vacation will even occur. (During summers that did not allow for away from home festivities, I have been known to turn the sandbox and accompanying backyard into a summer retreat, blindfolding the children on their way out the door in an effort to surprise them with their own stuff out back. They called me on it immediately.)
3. Summer is hot. If I book a summer house, it just means I’m going to be hot, away from home, on purpose, and I’m going to PAY somebody to allow me to do this.
4. Since we’re not loaded, we do not attempt to escape the aforementioned summer heat by jetting off to the North Pole. I don’t do mountains with shade trees simply because the drive makes me feel like I would like to have my stomach pulled out through my nostrils and placed in a Styrofoam cooler until we stop going around in those damn circles. Seriously. Can’t someone just drill a big car sized hole through the middle of those bastards and be done with it?!
5. I have to put on a swimsuit. It would be different if the world was lit via black light, ‘cause for whatever reason, I’m still presentable when I’m a nice strange shade of purple. Do not ask me how I know this. However, since most people (including the spawn) prefer to go to the beach during daylight hours with the rest of the free world, it means the planet gets to see my thighs pinched tight at the top by a nice ring of spandex. Yep. I’m sure of it. I really hate it. (I’m thinking of taking up surfing so’s I can wear one of those full body things without looking like a poser.)
6. Going back to number 3, not only do you pay to sleep in someone else’s digs while on vaca, you pay a BUTT LOAD to sleep in someone else’s digs while on vaca. I consider a resort someone else’s digs. It ain’t mine, is it? The sand is free. The sun is free. The freakin’ WATER is free. The place to lay your head for the 6 hours your children don’t force you to bake in the sun? Ex-effing-pensive. Add to that the fact that no amount of Lysol, bleach, acid, etc. can totally kill “those other people that were here before us” cooties and I am sufficiently freaked out.
That being said, we leave in 6 days. I am POSITIVE it will make for some interesting blogging. Especially gardening while on vacation...... cue.....
THE GARDEN REPORT
My planting proceeds. I am finding that it seems I spent WAY more time fighting Leo in order to sometimes NOT have sex than the actual time it takes to get it on. And we take our time......
I don’t know what changes the particulars of a sex life in a relationship, which is another reason I am forcing my husband to sleep with me for the next 95 days. Is it the familiarity that breeds the “we don’t have to do it now because you’re not going anywhere, you live here” mentality? Or the children that sap every single bit of energy you have and then some that force your once nympho-like view of the world of sex and love to skew sharply south? Maybe it’s a combination of those and countless other reasons we make up to NOT be intimate with the person we share our lives with on a daily basis. Whatever the reason, I hope this sexperiment helps me to inject a little sexual healing (it IS good for headaches) into our normal existence AFTER this is over. I mean, marriage is a partnership, and the daily rigors of this partnership can sometimes leave us exhausted, especially if you’re parenting at the same time. Why not recharge together every once in a while? Naked.