If that makes me crazy...

It’s a well-documented fact that I am a bit unstable. (I say if you aren’t at least just a little bit loopy, you aren’t nearly as interesting. Kookiness makes people gather around you just to see what you’ll do next. Kind of like a science experiment.) And this past week I found myself teetering — precariously — on the verge. I can’t say exactly what it is that I find myself on the verge of every so often. I just look down and I’M THERE. This usually turns into a series of rash behaviors that then lead the hubby into a state of panic or verge-ness himself. So Friday, after another week of the insane juggling act that is now officially my life — not to mention the over two months’ worth of weekends booked solid with back-to-back commitments like birthday parties, recitals, etc. — I called a TIME OUT. Screamed it in fact. Yes, I had more commitments for the weekend at hand. And, yes, I had spent yet another week working like a mad-woman while navigating a maze of meetings (I STILL don’t have a sitter for Beanie. See NOTE at end.) And trying to be available to see all that Miss 6 was up to at camp (my presence was requested and mom-guilt turned it into a must.) And trying to finalize house-sitting for our upcoming trip (Bubble Girl unknowingly bore the brunt of my ‘episode.’) And fielding family phone calls about the visit home. (As well as reports from Brother Brown-nose who was there assessing the damage of parental strife.) And preparing for and delivering a pitch to a new client. And finessing and delivering a pitch to an existing client. And about 100 old projects that suddenly came back to life with urgency…anyway…(Breathe.)

I called Coco and said, “I may have changed my mind about Vegas.” Then I called the hubby at work and said, “I may have changed my mind about Vegas.” Which started the chain of events. Vegas was the original plan for this past weekend. Sparkplug turned 40 and her husbino rented a cabana at the Rio. Couples were involved. No kids. And we couldn’t pull it off. Trying to get away for a night or two — with no kids — is more than a mild undertaking for us. It involves calling in favors of all sorts that we inevitably will not be able to return. So we had reluctantly declined. Lady Lou and husband, plus Mr. and Mrs. E-Faithful were going. And Coco had been waging a plan to get the rest of the girls to go, sans husbands. I still said no. Then Friday woke up thinking, “YES!”

It was suddenly the perfect time to get the heck out of town. Me on the verge and all. Hubby knew I was losing it (I think it could have been the empty baby formula can that whizzed by his head on Tuesday morning) and said, “Okay. Go.” The last minute ticket prices weren’t quite as generous. So I was again on the losing end of being spontaneous. But, like I said, the hubby knew. Really, really KNEW. So we went out to dinner and concocted a PLAN B over two glasses of wine.

I woke up Saturday and made the calls and sent the necessary e-mails. (Still haven’t heard from the two friends I bailed out on. It’s possible I may not again. And one of them is the b-partner. Not good. The other is True Blue who is pregnant with her fourth and flying out this week because her mom is having heart surgery. My timing was impeccable.)

The moral to this story is…it was worth it and I’d do it again and again. We ran away to Beaver Creek via an amazing deal that included a massage for me and some kiddie treatments for Miss 6. (You should SEE her nails — she picked electric blue for her toes and neon pink for her fingers. That’s what I get for sending her off on her own for something that involves nail polish!) All we did was call and presto — instant bargain. Creating just the oasis we all needed to regain our sanity. We enjoyed the newly added Aqua Sanitas water relaxation area at the spa, swam in the pool, ate s’mores by the fire pit, drank wine on the balcony after the girlies were tucked in, ordered breakfast in bed, swam some more, saw Dick Cheney (Yes, yes, he was staying at our hotel last night - very surreal with all of the secret service around), met the Commissioner of the SEC on the elevator and talked about the Gamecocks (Yes, the NCAA was meeting there too), and happened upon Kansas performing ‘Dust in the Wind’ on the plaza. Unbelievable, really, for a plan hatched over dinner at Bacaro just the night before.

I never said I was low maintenance. This is a topic the hubby and I dove into on the drive home. We unanimously decided that, as cash-strapped as we usually are when there are the inevitable lapses between client invoices and payments, camping is so out for both of us. Posh resort get-aways when you can luck up on a deal…positively in. And we also decided that PLAN C: Operation amp up the income is officially launched. Anybody need some Amway? (Just kidding.)

I am officially renewed. A quick car trip and I snapped right out of my head trip. The weekend highlight: As we re-introduced Miss 6 to our mountain drive obsession — big-horned sheep, she said, “Okay. I’m looking for them.” Silence. “But, Dad? What are big orange sheep?” And there you find the real heart of life. Being together as our little family unit, scouting the passing mountainsides for Big Orange Sheep.

Sometimes I slip and forget all that. I’m sure mid-week will find me shirking my promise to set aside family time each evening. I’m sure I’ll be pissed off at the world again in no time. That’s just who I am. But as sappy as it may be, if I can just conjure that ride home with two sleepy little girls and a hubby who was thrilled to have had me to themselves all weekend, it may just help.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Dust in the Wind, of course! Kansas circa 1977. And they stayed at our hotel too. What a guest list that was…

NOTE ON THE BEAN: I can’t seem to make myself hire a sitter for Beanie. Part of it is not wanting to spend the money on having someone sit here while she naps (still twice a day!). But even during those weeks when clients demand arcane meeting times and I’m freaking out trying to patch together a back up plan, I just can’t do it. She’s my bean. And I want her. To myself. After all, that’s the whole reason I am living this self-employed-business-owner-while-I-stay-at-home-with-the-girlies life. (We live in Boulder, so living on one income is not an option.) And even if I do drive myself to despair at times with all of the stress, I still maintain that I will NEVER get this time with her back. This is it. And she’s my bean. So I’m going to make it work. At least until it doesn’t.