Mullis: When vacation warrants a vacation

Nicole L.V. Mullis

For the Enquirer

Vacations aren’t always refreshing.

My family takes one week of vacation in the summer. It is the only time all 24-and-a-half of us are together. Sleeping, relaxing and reading aren’t priorities. Eating, drinking and making merry are.

The logistics are intense. Emails fly regarding arrival times and who is cooking when. The last few years, we’ve been taking my in-laws’ boat, which requires its own email chain. Outside of packing and shopping, I have to prepare some of my writing ahead of time so I can file from the nearest coffeeshop during vacation.

Since my husband is doing the same thing at his job, we don’t really see each for three weeks prior to our vacation.

I need to make boarding arrangements for the dog and bring someone in for the cats. And since school starts shortly afterward and my kids are in three different educational situations, there is paperwork galore.

Then there are the things you can’t plan for – car repairs, doctor visits, family drama. By the time we roll away, I feel my breath coming in shallow sips.

We arrive at the cabins and the fun begins.

After seven nights of averaging three hours in a bed that isn’t mine, as well as swimming, hiking, boating, shopping and moving constantly, as well as eating like it's Thanksgiving every waking hour, as well as showering in a closet that I’m sharing with family members, I’m exhausted.

The last day is no day at the beach. Instead, it’s the worst game of hide-and-go-seek. We have to locate our stuff, the kids’ stuff, everyone’s stuff. There are piles of salty, sandy, wet clothes to pack, a table full of foodstuff to mitigate, and garbage bags of bottles to return. Add to this a bunch of grumpy campers squinting into their phones and asking me about next week when I haven’t seen a calendar in days, and I’m officially fried.

We get home and the inbox, mailbox and litter box are full, but the refrigerator is empty. The pets are surly. I don’t know how much I have in the bank or how much is on the credit card. No one wants to cook, shop, clean or organize, so we order a pizza.
And the next morning we cook, shop, clean and organize under the stress of MONDAY.

Monday is the worst. There are people waiting for us to roll-up our sleeves, assuming that we are refreshed and ready for work. And work we do, even though our necks are still cricked, our backs are shot, and our sunburns haven’t died down. It takes a least a week to feel normal.

Did I enjoy my vacation? Yes.

Am I rested? No.

I know because by the end of vacation I am saying things I shouldn’t say and doing things I shouldn’t do. This is not to say I don’t want to go. I love it. It is my Christmas and Easter all in one. I’m just saying, the resting isn’t happening, much like it doesn’t happen on Christmas and Easter.

Ideally, I would like 14 days off. Three of those days I want before I leave on vacation to pack and prepare without losing my mind. Then seven days of fun. Then I want those last four days to sleep in my own bed, to remember what day of the week it is, to read emails between naps, to unwind, to walk the dog, to pay the bills, to find the cats, to wash the clothes, and to buy milk.

Then I will go back to work refreshed.

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith." You can reach her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com or www.NicoleLVMullis.com.