Gone Fishing

Daniel's favorite.

Not really. It might not surprise you that I don’t fish.  I have fished. I grew up with a pond in my back yard and can dig for worms and bait hooks with the best of them. And yes, it is fun when a fish takes the bait and you reel it in. Cleaning and eating what I’ve caught? No thank you. I’m weird about fish in that I prefer someone else to cook it for me. Just one more way I differ from my family.

I digress.

Jimmy, Daniel and I are leaving for the beach in a few hours.  Seven glorious days at the beach.  This year we’ve rented a beach house.  That sounds very grand. In actuality, it’s a townhouse, but it’s an end unit and ocean front (my one requirement). When we began to plan our annual beach trip, we talked about finding a three-bedroom condo or a beach house.  Jimmy wanted to find a house if we could because he thought we needed more space.  A third bedroom in a condo would just get us another bedroom but not really more space.  Last year’s condo was good, but it did start to feel a tad claustrophobic in the living area. 

Surprisingly, there are affordable options for ocean front beach houses for one family.  We’ll see how it goes. Since it’s a townhouse, it’s two levels, and the beach views are on the second floor where the bedrooms are.  I wonder if I will miss seeing the beach from the living room.  On the other hand, it will be nice to be in a real house with real appliances and not Lilliputian ones. And we’re only steps from the sand and water!!

There are new bathing suits. New sand toys. New books.  We are ready. Most importantly, we are mentally ready.  We need this vacation.  Jimmy has been working so hard at work. I don’t think a week has gone by that he hasn’t had to work late (thankfully from home) at least one night. Daniel has been working hard at daycare, and I know he’s ready for a break.  As for me, work continues to be interesting.  Some days are good; others make me want to beat my head against the wall. Sometimes it feels like death by a thousand well-meaning cuts.  The last two years, our beach trip has happened after the summer all-staff meeting at work. I know I’m ready for vacation when I leave that meeting muttering, “F this. F all this.”

And then there are the dreams.  In the last month, I have started having vivid dreams about work. And violence.  In these dreams, something bad always happens.  People are hurt. People are shot.  I neither perpetrate the violence nor am a victim and as dreams go, it’s never exactly the people you work with, but the theme is the same: bad stuff happens at work. Gee, I wonder what that means.  Stress? Anxiety? Uncertainty? Psychologically unsafe?  All of those things, but for now, I’m concluding it means that I am very ready for vacation.

I’ve posted before about the beach restores me.  I’m looking forward to that and very much need it.  I can’t wait to build sand castles for Daniel to smash. To wiggle our toes in the sand. For the three of us to swim in the ocean and pool. To go to the aquarium and see what’s new. To eat great food. And most importantly, to do nothing but what we want to do and if that means nothing at all, that’s OK. I hope we three return rested and rejuvenated.  And hopefully I’ll read a better book than 50 Shades of Grey (one of last year’s beach reads).

See you next week.

 

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Please Talk to Me: My Husband Can Tell When I Haven't Had Any Conversation All Day

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