Dutch and I just returned from a week in Hawaii.
Just kidding. I'm speaking in code. "A week in Hawaii" actually means "a night in a hotel downtown."
Whatever. The important part is that we got away, albeit briefly, and emotionally filled our inner vessels. While I fervently wish I had been lying on a Hawaiian beach, I was instead enjoying dining out and catching up at the cinema, close to home and at bargain rates, relatively speaking.
Hawaii, someday. Overnight downtown dates, now. And at frequent intervals.
It reminds me of the poem Welcome to Holland, which every mother of a special-needs child everywhere in the world has been given by a thousand well-meaning people when her child is first diagnosed.
That poem is like the unofficial membership card into a club you didn't realize you were joining for the rest of your life. If you have disabled children, you know exactly what I am talking about.
But in this case, Hawaii is my Italy, and a hotel for a night downtown is my Holland. Except that Holland is also my everyday life. I live in Holland. Except I'm not eating Danishes all the time. Do people in Holland eat Danishes? Am I thinking of Denmark? Remember, my husband's nickname of Dutch exists for no logical reason. Help.
That poem, seriously. It's great, and I appreciate the message that there is beauty in an unexpected journey. Yes, I get it.
But enough about Holland already!
Sometimes the last thing you want to hear (especially on a day when you can't seem to get your kid's anti-psychotic medication at the right dose and he attacks his baby brother before the bus comes in the morning and throws a family portrait across the room---let's hope this isn't some sort of a sign---and tries to bite and kick you while you are moving him to a safe location) is about the unexpected loveliness of Holland.
Stop. Just, no.
Perhaps someone can write a poem about the tender mercies which pick you up and push you along when you are strung out on parenting.
Even as I typed this, I realized that someone already did.
Actually, two people.