A secret weekend

Ooh I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. And I’ve never been very good at keeping a secret. Not this kind of secret anyway. I was better at the naughty girl secrets I had to keep from parents, siblings, and friends. I keep saying that’s another story, and it is. Note: there’s not much I do half-assed, it’s full-ass or no-ass, and I’m slowly learning how to step into the middle and move around a little. Sometimes I think “the middle” is  just for wussies, sometimes I think it’s boring but responsible, and sometimes I’m on top of the world when I can bite my tongue instead of telling you what I really think. (most of the time, though, you guessed it… truth in person just like in blog. better that way.)

Alas I shall be completely honest about my secretive trip-planning. Now maybe you go on lavish weekends with your partner every so often, but me? Not so much. I’ve been pregnant or with infant since 2006. Now the baby is one, and dare I say sweetly and consistently sleeping through the night. So it’s time to call in the troops and get the kid-care out of the way, and head the fuck out of town. Simply getting away from my house would probably do, but Way Far out of town is going to be so much sweeter.And he doesn’t even know! And that part is almost as exciting as going. (But not, of course.)

I’ve never been much of a planner, really. But I have come to see how planning really helps. Room reservations, dinner reservations, knowing what the hell there actually is to DO in your destination town, instead of figuring it out once you get there and wasting precious time. Of course, this idea and seamless operation (thus far) only came to my brilliant mind like 5 days ago (see sidebar there), so room reservations are a bit scant in my destination of choice. Hard to come by and over-the-top costly. But I’m splurging, baby. Because this gal needs a romantic weekend and some hot sex to pick me up off the floor where I’m constantly: a) tired, b) wondering who’s going to make the dinner plans – oh yeah, that’s me – and c) always talking to or about my children. Damn, that grows old. I love them little suckers but I’d really like to contemplate things like faith and religion, destiny and future, life and love…and all that shit. Dan and I were good at that back in the day. Sit on the beach in “chairs” we dug into the sand and read out loud to one another. He had never read much. I remember how self-conscious he was at reading out loud. And it took him a while before he could do it fluently. But I insisted that he do it. And he grew to like it. And so did I – sometimes listening to the words, sometimes listening just to the sound of his voice, sometimes listening to only the waves and the wind. We’d read and then we’d talk, for hours. Remember that?

So contemplating greater things than daycare, diapers and dinner – and oh yeah, money, work, and sex (as in, when are we going to have ANY) – would be terrific. But the actual opportunity for hot sex and sleeping until 8 am is the most important part.

Wait, did I mention the sex, because I’m not sure? Oh right, I’m getting redundant and doing that fatal thing of putting too much pressure on a situation to turn out perfectly. Hmm. I’m going to forget about that little thing I do – thanks to my mom, she does it too! -  and declare that this IS going to be a fabulous weekend, falling on our 6th anniversary. We finally get to drink that bottle of wine given to us at our wedding and kept in reserve until our 5th anniversary. (Yes, it’s our 6th, and last year the timing was just off.)

Just tell the gods to keep the rain at bay, ok? Sunshine here I come.

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