I’ve been married for almost 10 years. You wanna know how I know that it’s been almost 10 years? Because my husband invited me to join him in Vegas yesterday and I didn’t want to go.
The Golfer is in Vegas for a tournament and called last night to say, “Why don’t you throw the boys in the car after school tomorrow and come to Vegas?” I love the fact that my husband misses us (me) and wants us (me) to be with him, but since I’ve become a mother and home owner, I’m not good at being spontaneous. I’m just not a “fly by the seat of your pants, moment to moment” kind of girl. That’s just not me.
It’s not that I didn’t want to go. It’s that getting there would take a lot of effort and I just don’t have the energy. I’m boring and old and just don’t feel like driving for 5 hours in the car with my kids for a mere 36 hours in Vegas to only get back in the car and drive another 5 hours home.
Just take me out and shoot me because the fun part of me has apparently died.
It wasn’t always this way. There used to be a time when I was ready to go at a moments notice. In college I’d be waiting with car keys in hand for the Golfer would call after practice and ask me to come over. Am I ashamed to admit that I was so eager and anxious to spend time with him? Not really. I was in love–crazy college love–and all I wanted more than anything was to spend time with my Golfer.
The Golfer was disappointed which made me disappointed, but he’s come to understand and appreciate that he is married to a planner and planners don’t take off for Vegas with 2 kids in the car on a random Friday afternoon. A planner needs to plan and I hadn’t planned on going to Vegas this weekend. (Not to mention that I have nothing but dirt and trenches in my backyard, but that’s another story for later.)
But…what if? What if I threw all reason and responsibility out the window and took off for the weekend?
Um, yeah, I love my husband, but it’s just not going to happen. The moment has passed.
Sorry, Vegas. Maybe next time.
But I wouldn’t count on it.