I need a vacation

from my vacation.

I know, I know...it's been weeks since I have blogged. Hey, what can I say? I've been on vacation. I planned ahead, thinking, "Well, there is no blog fodder to be had in beach trips, home remodeling and diet efforts". This was followed by, "Well, that was funny, but in a very painful way and when it is no longer actually painful, I just might blog about it"...followed by, "Who in their right mind would ever want to read a blog about my ongoing misery?

Which lead to a more-than-six-weeks sabbatical.

But, just like in all your favorite horror movies..."I'm baaaaaaaaack".

Now that I am no longer living on ibuprofen in mass quantities (just in the usual "I'm almost fifty, with bad knees and fat" quantities), I can blog about the beginning of vacation 2009. The kids and I had finally decided on a beach destination, and I had plunked down 800 non-refundable dollars to some woman in Dallas who rents out a house in Galveston. Yes, DH has pointed out MANY TIMES that had we gotten a hotel, we might have not had the whole non-refundable pressure, but then again, the kids and I were picturing life in a little beach house, strolling to the beach, eating ice-cream, renting bicycles.

None of which happened, but first...about eight hours AFTER I made the payment, I was walking Perfect Daughter's perfect 4 1/2 pound recently rescued Chihuahua. The entire herewergoagain clan was out playing tennis, miles away from home. I stayed behind with the dogs, daydreaming about a beach vacation, watering my plants, relaxing outside. I was carrying the pup when my leg hit a puddle on the porch, and I went down. Hard. And of course, because I had precious cargo in my arms, there was nothing to break my fall--I held onto her, instead of putting out my hands. I landed on my tail. My bum. My derriere. My backside. I'm not tiny. There are more than 4 1/2 pounds in my little finger. There was a lot of weight coming down on what I found out later was a rather smallish bone. And it cracked.

OK, so the dog leapt out of my arms and ran away. Smart dog. I lay there for a few minutes, trying to figure out if I was paralyzed, then rolled over and called her. Perfect Daughter was trying out "Mercy" for a name at the time. I was screaming, "Mercy! Mercy!" and mid-scream I decided that was NOT a good name for the dog. I honestly wondered if the neighbors (1/2 mile away) thought I was asking for mercy from some homicidal maniac. Nope, just crawling after a little dog--who is now called something very different, by the way. I crawled to the door, let out the big dogs, they chased her to me, I got to the couch and I stayed there. I tried to call my family. It was quite interesting to hear first one, then another, then a third ringtone from all over the house.

They came home, I was in intense pain (but still managed to lay a LOT OF GUILT on them for the no-phones thing), and I stayed on that couch for the next two weeks.

We couldn't cancel (can anyone say "non-refundable"?), and we also remembered the charming stilts which are the hallmark of every house in Galveston (can anyone say "Hurrican Ike"?) My goal was to rest. I do like that as a goal generally, but not when it entails tail pain. Nauseating pain. I finally understood the phrase "Pain in the neck"--only not there. Ouch.

So, after two weeks, several variations of donut pillows, and lots of pain medications, we loaded up the car for Galveston. The kids, the two Chihuahuas, my pillows, my drugs and lots of beach stuff headed south. It was supposed to take 4 1/2 hours. It took six, but who was counting? Oh, right, I WAS!

We arrived at the "adorable, restored, 1920's cottage"...smack in the middle of what I can only describe as "Galveston's scary side". OUR house was cute. The rest? Well, I hoped what I was seeing was hurricane damage and that really, these people generally DID have glass in their windows and paint on their siding. Who cared? The beach was a "five minute walk". Um, five minutes if you didn't have to cross FOUR lanes of traffic. Oh, and then walk 1 1/2 miles through the "dunes" to the water. We had been told that the beach was Galveston's finest. Maybe in 1965. That day, after the treacherous walk...it was, well... not fine. Not at all. It was crowded. There was trash literally everwhere. Sweet girl clutched her boogie board and looked at me through bright eyes. Perfect Daughter hissed, "These people have way too much tolerance for garbage". I had swum with the refugees in Lebanon as a girl in 1971. This was deja vu all over again. The clincher was looking at a little girl making a sand castle NEXT to a veritable dump of soda cans. It just wasn't....picturesque.

We marched back. And by march, I mean MARCHED. Perfect Daughter stormed up the steps, got out the laptop and said, "We can be in Corpus Christi by morning". I locked up the six locks between us and the "quaint neighborhood" and considered our options. It wasn't looking too good.

But, miraculously, we discovered Galveston the next day...the "real" Galveston. Historic buildings, quirky populace, much nicer beaches and yummy food. We also knew that we had chosen right in picking out the house when Perfect chi came down with worms, but that is another blog. Suffice it to say, it was manageable in a fenced yard, and might have been less so in the patch of perfect lawn in front of the Hotel Galvez.

SO, that was the end of vacation number 1.

Vacation number 2 began 14 days ago when DH took his time off (curiously NOT coinciding with the Galveston trip, but then again, I have always admired his acumen).

DH decided to do some kitchen remodeling 14 days ago. Everything is fine NOW, but um, yeah. Too painful to blog about. Too many trips to Home Depot. Too many helpful comments about how "what we really need to do is....". Too many hurried weird meals from a kitchen that was basically dismantled (The highlight of my week was when I could use the oven again and offered to make chicken for the family. Rowdy said, and I quote, "Do you mean the frozen, pre-formed, questionable nuggets...or yours?" I said, "Mine of course"....he grimaced and asked for the others.) DH finished the job in record time because he well, "finished the job". He was done, whether I wanted anything more or not. HE was satisfied. Done. Rowdy was not. Rowdy still is not finished. Rowdy LOVES all things home improvement. He was going to fix the leaky faucet in the hall bath. He worked on the pool pump. He has plans for shelves in his bedroom, but first...that annoying leaky faucet.

Well, the pipe in the bathroom just broke. How do I know? Rowdy came in wet from head to toe and asked where the water shut-off valve is. We have a well. I hope this doesn't do something terrible like, oh, I don't know...break the well. I would call DH to ask, but he is back at work today...taking a vacation from his vacation.

I always did admire his acumen.

Now for the plumber.....