There are phases, planning, lists, bags, even for an overnighter. There’s laundry to start, fold, and pack, there’s dishes to wash before running out the door. Who wants to come home to piles of dirty laundry on top of what you’re hauling back? And who wants to face a dirty, full, smelly sink? So the whole house gets a once-over, so that when we get back, road-weary or jet-lagged, we can grab a snack and flop onto welcoming couches.
Which we never do. We get the mail, we flatten and stack newspapers, we run to the grocery to get supplies for a home-cooked dinner.
But the planning excitement! I peruse my totes, select one that will carry kids’ entertainment: DS’s, chargers, camera. Coloring books for all of us, regardless of age. Tiny compact travel games and quiet restaurant diversions. LRC, Bananagrams, tangrams. So fun! We rarely use them, but they are gold when we need them. Like when someone wakes up sick in a boring hotel room and all the cartoons are unfriendly. (Yes, that’s happened.) Or we get snowed in. (Yep.)
Hotel has a pool – yippee, pack the suits and goggles. Tourist destinations to research! Lounge clothes to pack – we won’t be doing housework or dishes!
And oh, the books. My eyes are always bigger than my brain on that. I like a picture-heavy magazine for the pool – even though I’m either in the pool or hawklike watching the kids. I can dream, right, of sitting poolside and flipping organizer magazine pages. That dog training book I started and haven’t finished. The summer novel … even though it’s early December. My kindle! I’m feasting on the fantasy of unscheduled time to relax and kick back. My book stack reflects my desire to just lose myself in another world, in the hotel.
Why do hotel rooms seem so inviting? They look clean though I know they aren’t. The desk is so conveniently situated, though I’d hate for that setup at home – too close to the bed. The piles of crisp white sheets, the mounds of pillows – though I prefer my own bed, really. It just seems luxurious to hop into this hotel one.
Even road trip food and music lure me. I have too many cd’s, yet I burn midnight oil creating playlists and questioning what’s in the travel cd case. My son’s allergies require us to pack food, but the chips and pretzels are a must. We try for healthier options too, but even grapes get smashed; rolling down the road makes me hungry for Bugles and other nonsense I can’t really stomach.
The romance of the road; the inevitable reality and return. I’m glad I like my own bed, my own reading nook, my space. But it’s fun to escape for a while and give others’ a chance.
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