- There’s no such thing as rest for parents: Same problem with Sabbaths—what does it mean to rest a day a week when there are still children who need to be fed, entertained, and watched after? Vacations are worse because they’re like many “Sabbaths” in a row.
- Everyone wants a part of me: True confession, I kind of just want to be left alone. On vacation, my husband and kids actually want me to relate to (or serve) them. I end up getting less rest than when everyone’s working.
- I just want to read a book preferably cover to cover in one sitting. One high school spring break I read 17 novels. By Friday when I finally emerged bleary-eyed into daylight, I realized it probably would have been good to move my body a little during that week. On our honeymoon, Scott and I sat by a pool with our books. 30 minutes later, he said, “OK, let’s go do something.” I said, “But I have 350 more pages until I finish. . .” There’s a lot of negotiation between 30 minutes and however long it takes to finish my latest novel.
- My perfectionist tendencies: As a “P” on the Myers-Briggs, I can gather data forever, spend hours on Yelp searching for the best bike shop, the best activities, the best ice cream, the best lobster roll. It’s exhausting.
- My “Pake” aversion to spending lots of money. Vacations take money—I feel guilty spending money. (Pake is a derogatory word that means both Chinese and cheap in Hawaii, click here for a blog explaining the concept and a great recipe for mango lassis)
Why I Fail at Vacations