I don’t know how it happened. But it’s been three years in a row.
It’s been six years in a row.
That burns me out.
I didn’t plan on becoming one, it just happened and it has nothing to do with parenthood. It’s just what happened.
I knew it was on the calendar, been on the calendar for years. It’s been set in stone since the late 1800s. I looked it up. It’s historic, people look forward to these things for months. Months! Counting down the days until this particular weekend happens.
It’s the weekend where you get extra time, but not just an hour, you get a whole 24 hours to do whatever you want. There’s no one expecting you to clock in. You get three … three days to yourself … to celebrate, relax, unwind in some place that’s not your home. Anywhere but home. It’s your opportunity to sit in traffic or deal with airport personnel on your way to some great destination.
It’s the three-day weekend.
It’s Labor Day Weekend.
In some parts of the world they even call it a holiday. Not vacation, holiday.
A time to live labor-free and celebrate.
And here I was … working my ass off as a parent and letting the weekend pass me by without a boarding pass, or filling up the tank.
It happened to me.
I was one of them.
I’d come to the realization that I’d become one. Didn’t expect to, thought I’d have a timeshare or something, but no … nothing. Not even a huge backyard where I could set up tents and pretend to go camping. No pretending.
I’d become one.
I’d become a Stay-Cationer.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but looks like once you hit the five years in a row mark, it’s official. You get a card. You’re in the club. You’re in the try to make a vacation for yourself in your own city club. Try to escape your hustle and bustle without boarding a plane or train group.
Normally things of this nature don’t burn me out, but for some reason it did this year.
And it’s probably because it wasn’t a conscious choice. I didn’t say “Hey, Guat why don’t you just stay in this weekend and explore the city.”
No. In fact, I don’t think I said that to myself at all the last five years, I think that’s what dawned on me.
So after a I’m-burned-out-I-can’t-believe-this-whoa-as-me session I came to grips with reality.
I an accidental tourist in my own city.
That was me.
But considering my location, I guess it wasn’t that bad. I was at a place where Coppertone 45 and flip-flops were an essential part of life. There was Framboise. There was chocolate. There was laughter. And then there was more chocolate. And the fact that my kids weren’t having any meltdowns along the way gave this in-town retreat a five-star rating.
I’d have to admit that it was pretty good after all, even if I’d become a three-day weekend Stay-Cationer, it wasn’t too bad of a place to get stuck in.
The Best Truck Ever = The Best Smile Ever.
There’s no picture for Exhibit E … it’s just my soft Bed, Bath & Beyond pillow that will assist me in a long restful sleep after my supreme you-do-with-what-you’ve-got-because-what-you’ve-got-is-enough stay-cation.