Commentary by Danielle Wilson
I made it! I survived a 15-hour car ride through the night that included, but was not limited to, stream-of-consciousness, high-volume diatribes from three teenagers; the constant threat of severe weather; an honest-to-God highway collapse; and a very early morning rendezvous with my husband Doo at the Atlanta airport car rental drop-off. I credit a poorly-made CD of “The Sound of Music” and the promise of sand and sleep for this miraculous feat of driving. Go, me!
Yes, friends, for the first time in five years, I am enjoying a spring break vacation with my beloved family (actually, I am missing one child, as she is a member of a militant color guard team and was denied leave. I did consider staying to support her at their national competition, but after about three seconds, opted for vacay. Mother of the Year, right here). Usually, because I teach in a neighboring school district with a different calendar, I’ve wallowed in Midwest self-pity while they frolic along Floridian beaches. But thanks to a unique alignment of Jupiter and Mars, we had the same week off in April. Woo-hoo!
So here I am, two days post-drive, feeling almost like myself again. I’ve slept for 10 hours both nights, already had my coral-painted toes in the Gulf, and unlike Doo and Boy Twin, have successfully avoided Fifth Disease-esque sunburn (it’s called SPF 30+, people!). And yesterday (gulp), we ate a real dinner, (tear) at a real table, (full-on weeping), all together! No Freschetta, no cell phones and no running off to pick up the youngest up from dance. It was truly magical.
Because that is what family vacation is all about – spending time with each other sans the distractions of the daily grind. Re-establishing connections that have been pushed by the wayside. And laughing at my terrible rendition of “Edelweiss” while making fun of Doo’s splotchy red chest. Peace out.