“Wipe Out” by The Beach Boys and The Fat Boys
As I sit in my living room on ‘vacation’ and stim on Doritos and mid-priced Cabernet at exactly 4:54pm, Day Eight, I realize that it just doesn’t get any better than this. I mean who else has it this good on vacation? No lines, heat exhaustion or overpriced bottles of water. I don’t need reservations, bathing suits, passports or matching neon orange tees that say ‘Resident of Stim City. If you find me wandering alone, please take me to the Security Booth and have them page Mama at the bar’.
For some wild reason, it is so much easier to live without a ‘real’ vacation when you have the great excuse of a spouse deployed and a child with special needs. Though I know some incredible Mamas that actually take their children (including those with autism) on vacation solo, I don’t have balls that big. This year, I no longer have the MIA spouse excuse come summertime. For now, we have chosen to be still and continue the quest for ‘settling in’ from a deployment and new beginnings at a new school. But in August, we will attempt some camping trips and a trip to StoryLand in New Hampshire, and I can assure you – we will have the most detailed exit strategies known to man. That’s how you roll when you vacation with autism.
Are we there yet?
Nope – here I sit because we’re just not there yet. I’d like to spin a fantabulous tale about the antics of spring vacation – our trip to the science center, crafts that would make Martha Stewart weep, the million odd little projects I completed around the house, our hiking adventure or the afternoon at the water park that was so much fun my head nearly popped off.
Of course, I’d be lying my ass off. Because instead on Day Three RM popped hot with a double ear infection and on Day Four I was puking my guts out. By Day Five, SGM had taken the day off to assist and I fled the scene faster than a Bugatti Veyron (my new fantasymobile). I had ‘errands’ – quite legitimate ones that grew into anything I could think of to avoid coming back to my vacation with autism. I returned some things to the store, bought some shoes on sale (always a momentary high), got a call from my sister in distress and sat with her in a parking lot gossiping for an hour and eventually made my way home. It was the closest I had come to anything resembling a vacation.
Maybe next year we will anticipate spring vacation with a renewed sense of vigor, pack our bags and head somewhere dreamy – somewhere that we actually could make use of sunscreen and little drink umbrellas rather than xanax and shoe therapy.