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Family Daze
Vacations can be relaxing once one's partner returns to work
By Debbie Farmer
My husband gets a two-week vacation from work each year. This year, we didn't plan any extravagant trips, and I looked forward to staying home and spending some relaxing, quality family time together.
On the first day, I planned to get an early start on our family excursion. When I went downstairs, my husband was already awake tinkering in the garage.
"I'm glad you're finally up," he said.
I smiled. He was killing time while waiting for me, so we could plan our day together. I wondered what he had in mind. A picnic at the park? A trip to the zoo? Or maybe a long drive down the coast with nothing but the wind at our backs, a song in our hearts, and our children giggling excitedly in the backseat?
"I need you to hand me the tools while I install a ceiling fan in the upstairs hallway."
"But... ."
"It will really cut down on the air conditioning bill," he said. "Just be ready to start giving me the tools after I finish cutting a hole in floor of the attic."
By dinnertime, my arms ached, and I had a crick in my neck from gazing upward. I looked like I was either praying or expecting rain.
"Don't worry," my husband said, leading me to the sofa. "I'll cook tonight--just lie down and rest."
I slept late the next morning and, when I finally hoisted my aching body out of bed and staggered downstairs to make coffee, I thought I had wandered into someone else's kitchen. There was coffee in a Tupperware container next to the percolator, fruit in the basket above the refrigerator, vegetables in the crisper, and my spices were lined up alphabetically in the cupboard.
"How do you expect me to function in here?" I said.
"It's amazing how you managed to cook at all," my husband said. "Now the kitchen is organized, and you'll be able to find things a lot easier."
It wasn't fair. Most women marry men who will actually relax on their vacations. I get Bob Vila.
"It was organized before," I said. "The coffee belongs in a baggie underneath the sandwich meat in the crisper. The fruit goes in the breadbox next to the microwave, except for the bananas, which stay in a paper bag above the refrigerator. The spices go behind the instant rice in the pantry, and the extra Christmas wrapping paper belongs in the oven next to the shoeboxes. Now I can't even find a spoon to use in case I run into the sugar."
It took an hour for me to find enough supplies to prepare breakfast, and I spent the rest of the morning putting my kitchen back to normal. By the time I finished, my husband had organized the bedroom closets, the family photo albums, and the videotape collection. I finally caught up to him stacking the holiday towels by month in the linen closet.
"Stop!" I cried. "I don't have time to be organized!"
"You're right," he said. "What you need is a schedule."
I looked at him in horror and snatched the towels away. This was the wrong thing to do because it freed up his hands to write.
When he gave me the schedule, I figured I would humor him until he went back to work, then stuff it down the garbage disposal along with the installation instructions for the overhead fan.
"See," he said, pointing at the sheet of paper. "You can put a load of laundry in the washer first thing in the morning and, at the same time, put a pot roast in the oven. By the time the clothes reach the rinse cycle, you can have the whole house vacuumed and a grocery list made for your trip to the store while the clothes are in the dryer."
I pacified him by putting it up in the kitchen. I even pretended to follow it just to make him feel good, but by dinnertime I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open long enough to find the pot roast.
"Honey," my husband said, "I thought it would be nice if we did something with the kids. Like bowling or miniature golf."
"It sounds great," I said. "But I'm just too tired."
"Well, you can come with us next time then," he said. "You know, there is nothing better than staying home and spending quality time with my family."
"Uh-huh," I mumbled. Then I staggered into the living room and collapsed on the sofa. I realized I'd have plenty of time to recuperate once he went back to work.
Debbie Farmer can be contacted at familydaze@home.com
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
