I suck at making decisions.
Variety may be the spice of life, but it only stresses me out.
What to wear? What to make for dinner? How to cut my hair?

Craig wonders why it takes me two hours to grocery shop; it’s all the decisions I have to make. Even with a list in hand and nearly thirteen years of grocery shopping experience to guide me, I still stand in the aisle, blankly staring at what is presented before me. Don’t get me wrong, I like options. I’d complain if I didn’t have any. I don’t like being forced to buy one brand over another because that’s all that the store carries. But on the other hand, the cornucopia of food products displayed in such pretty little rows on the shelves only distracts me from my task at hand, further complicating things.
It’s a love hate thing.

Price, value, taste, nutritional merit, smooth or chunky, paper or plastic.
Too. Many. Decisions.
And for the record, the smooth or chunky decision is easy, so I’m not sure why I added it. It’s smooth all the way, or prepare to face the wrath of Craig.

As I type this, I’m in the throes of vacation package decisions. Since we won’t be moving mid July, we’re going to spend a few days at Colonial Williamsburg instead. There are all kinds of great package deals out there. And along with the greatness comes the decisions.
Which package? Which hotel? How many days?
We have it all figured out, but I’m plagued with the “what ifs.” An incurable chronic disease I’ve suffered through my entire life.

What if someone gets sick? What if it rains? What if the hotel looks nothing like the picture?What if my car blows up?

What if we spend all this money and all Caroline wants to do is play in the hotel pool?

That may sound like a far fetched “what if,” but trust me, it’s not. DisneyWorld wasn’t nearly as exciting to Caroline as the pool at our hotel and the free bus ride to Downtown Disney for Happy Meals. She asked to go back to Disney and I just chuckled. We have a pool in our subdivision and McDonalds down the street.
That trip to Disney is one I think we’d all like to forget. Especially Craig, who spent half of it in the hotel, dealing with a stomach virus.

It was awesome.

We’re not a traveling type of family. Excluding all the moving we do, of course.
Vacations never end up being relaxing or rejuvinating; they are often plagued with snippy arguments and lots of whining. I think it’s Caroline’s fault. Sure, blame the kid. No really, before she came around, we did enjoy our travels and each other’s company. Maybe it’s three people in one small room with the smallest and energetic of the three insistent upon jumping from bed to bed, using the key card over and over, racing through the halls and filling and refilling the ice bucket.

Vacations always sound like a good idea. I’m hopeful that the two we have planned this summer will be refreshing and filled with fun memories. Not me yelling at Craig in the Burger King parking lot. It was not one of my finer vacation moments, I confess. But please keep in mind that Caroline was two and a half, hungry and tired. Three things that do not help promote family harmony.

We’re all older now.
Some a bit more mellow, others one a bit more neurotic.

Who knows?
We could actually have a really nice time.

If only I could finalize the decisions.



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