I often leave my family for a few days every couple months and go to my favorite campground.  I don’t feel bad about it, nor do I feel that it makes me a lousy mother, or any of the other judgmental shit that has been slung my way.  I am giving my children something that I wish *I* had had as a child—-time with their father.   After my parents split there were weekends when my mom would go visit one of her siblings and it would be just Dad and me for the wknd and they were great, I just wish I’d had more.  I know that parenting now is different and back then the moms were the ones that ran the show(and yes, we still do now, but in a different way) so it never crossed my mom’s mind to leave me at home with my father–a man whose culinary achievements all included using spam.  I’m serious, y’all—you’d be amazed at the shit he fed me, and I was in HS and totally able to fend for myself, but he always looked so proud I didn’t want to let him down.

ANYWAY–so my kids had some good Dad-time, and I got lots of alone time, so we all win.  There were several hammock naps with the pug–bliss!!! There were also many games of pool volleyball, followed by one on one work to teach this girl how to serve.  Hey–if I’m playing volleyball with a bunch of bros, I have to be able to get it over the net. Thankfully I was a quick study and it only took an hour-ish….I’m not saying I’m the next Olympic athlete, but if there is a pickup game of volleyball in the pool I am confident that I have a decent serve.

The day before I went to camp, a couple of my friends and I had found this island.  In Scotland.  And we tried to buy it.

Did you see that one coming?  I certainly didn’t.

So this island was pretty big, untouched, all natural, close to stuff, but, ya know, a fucking island.   The idea of actually setting up some kind of self-sufficient commune across the pond was tangible–and while we didn’t get that one, it did get me thinking.

I was shocked/amazed/pleased with how quickly some members of my circle were like “Fuck yeah, I’ll get a goat and you can grow shit while I make cheese!”.  I realized that I’m not the only one who is unhappy and ready to shake shit up to get it back to good.  I spent a fair amount of time figuring out all the steps I would need to take to move out of country–I have a big house that’s full of shit.  And don’t even get me started on all our collector stuff.  But just in thinking of getting rid of a LOT of our stuff and moving somewhere with a slower pace, I was finally able to nail down feelings that I’ve been having.  We are all living these high speed lives, but I don’t want to do it anymore.  I’m tired of keeping up–or pretending to,  and having to do so goddamn much all the time.  I’ve run out of fucks to give and if moving to another country is what it will take to save my marriage and my sanity, well then—-honestly, why the hell not?

I wonder what my kiddos would sound like with a little Scottish accent(spoiler alert: they will always sound adorable).  I would open an apothecary–small towns need healers too!  I can see it all so clearly in my head….one of thousands of futures I *could* have.  I see all these paths and for the first time I’m hesitant to just pick one and see how it goes(but if we are keeping score, I’m doing pretty fucking great) because this WILL be my Final Act.  Act 1 was my youth, in Act 2 I became a Mom and a “real grownup”.  I’m still actively in Act 2,  but the Final Act—that’s when I will shine brightest.  I just need to find that niche, and I can feel that I’m so close. Sooooo close.  On the brink, man—I’m just hanging out there waiting for the signs.

I suck at being patient, but I can wait this out.  Honestly I can’t wait to see what happens next!