TheMommyBlog

Thursday, December 03, 2009 Family

Like a lemon to a lime, a lime to a lemon…I’ve had the Beastie Boys in my head all day. While doing the Snoopy dance, which is a whole lot of fun when you can’t wait to get started on an adventure.

I’m heading off to Bangkok first thing in the morning, the first stop on the My Guy Turns Forty Tour of Thailand. Or, more accurately, Tour of Bangkok’s Marriott and Its Immediate Environs, and then the same in Phuket. I know we should be taking every advantage of the sights and sounds, but frankly we are just giddy at the thought of not having a schedule, no meetings, no kids, room service, a beach, and something cold to drink with a paper umbrella in it. Eleven days, baby. FTW!

I think I’m packed. You’d think you wouldn’t need more than a bikini, a couple of dresses and undies, but I’ve been to Thailand and it’s like Chicago in that you find you need to change two or three times a day from the sheer stickiness and filth, depending on where you’ve been, of course. You can’t have too many changes of underwear or tshirts. More if you swim in any body of water whatsoever.

I plan to ride an elephant. That is the only thing I’ve declared as a goal, and My Guy’s totally up for it. Aside from that, we’ve promised each other not to plan anything out or try to have a schedule. We have our computers and phones so we can work when necessary, but other than that, I don’t care what we do. We’re each leaving three kids and an ex-spouse at home and you can’t put a price on that. Well, maybe you can. It’s an expensive trip. It’s win-win for me: he’s offered to foot the bill, and promised not to make any more cougar jokes. According to Wikipedia, there has to be an eight year age difference between an over-forty woman and her younger man, so SHUT THE HELL UP. Sixteen months is nothing. But I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the novelty.

I’ll miss my babies, of course, and we spent at least twenty minutes tonight talking about how great it was to have them until the last minute and how we’re going to keep in touch. When I dropped mine at their dad’s tonight, we hugged for like thirty minutes and then they said, “We want to watch you walk to the car.”

“Okay, that’s just creepy. Go back into the house.”

“Good point, Mom.”

They kill me with the snappy comebacks. Yesterday, I was explaining that if my daughter took Tylenol or something, she’d feel better, and she disagreed, saying it wouldn’t help her headache one bit.

Me: “You’re seven years old! How are you telling me you know more about physiology than I do?”

Her brother: “I think she just did.”