Greetings, readers. I’ve just returned from a spring break trip that I’m not exactly sure was worth it. There were definite moments of relaxation, but there were also times when I wanted to shout profanities at unsuspecting elderly women. Let’s assess.
On the plus side, the vacation was super cheap. I escorted two nieces to Florida, so their mom paid for my airline ticket — and I stayed free with my amazing in-laws in their snowbird condo. Also on a positive note was my selection of reading and viewing material. I finished “Bridgerton,” the first novel, before plunging right into Season 2 of the show, making for excellent poolside entertainment, and then filled my evenings with Netflix’s “Formula 1 Drive to Survive,” with which I am inexplicably obsessed (box, box, box!)
But for much of my week I was parenting, despite not having any of my four children along. Our youngest daughter, who was in Mexico, suffered a mild concussion, and I endured several sleepless nights imagining her slipping into a coma, dying amid tropical strangers (worst-case scenarios are very real at 3 a.m.). Additionally, the journey home was absolutely horrendous, exorcising most of my newly restored energy. Literal tornados in Tampa delayed my flight five hours, causing me to miss every possible Midwest connection in Charlotte and rage at old biddies trying to cut the customer service line. My sister-in-law, who had rented a car as soon as the first sirens sounded, ended up detouring from her Interstate-75 North route to grab me. We spent the whole of the next day driving back, utterly exhausted.
Was it worth it? I simply don’t know.
Peace out.
