cellini's Diaryland Diary

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When a Vacation is not a Vacation

Man, I am really not looking forward to this beach trip in June. I think it's in June. Maybe May? I might just go for 2 days and then come home. My parents rent a beach house in the Outer Banks every year for 2 weeks and everybody goes. I'm expected to be there for at least a week. However, I just cannot take it. Not with Harry at this age. When Ida was a toddler it was just maddening the whole time. You can't just sit there on the beach or go swimming. Because at any second, the toddler could go running off into the water and drown. So every second I'm having to watch him. No reading, no nothing. Back at the actual beach house, it's no better. Like most beach houses, the main living area is on the second floor on account of the ocean views and catching the breezes over the dunes and all. There's a spiral staircase just waiting for a 1 year old to fall down. The railing has balusters that are spaced way too far apart so that a toddler can get his head through and then fall right out or get stuck or what-have-you. Then there's the fact that my mother leaves the sliding doors out to the deck open for the air. The deck is way the hell up high off of the ground and the railing in one corner consists of a bench built into the deck, so that a toddler can conveniently climb right up and fall over the side.

Wonderful.

The whole place is a constant fucking nightmare for anyone responsible for a small child. The idea of this place being a 'vacation' is absurd. Every time I've been with Ida when she was around that age I wanted to shoot myself after a day or 2. There is literally no rest. No moment of relaxation. Everywhere that I can possibly be with that child, horrible death is just waiting for me to stop paying attention. Honestly, I would much rather just stay home where he can play in safe places.

I'd rather not go at all. The cost of the gas is going to be outrageous. I'm wondering whether I can possibly get out of this gracefully.

11:58 - 2008-04-30

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