Two-week and One-day Stay at the Lunatic Lodge

For one week now, the three little people in my life have brawled and squawked, screamed and grumbled on and on about one another. The oldest baits the youngest, the middle child wails, someone pushes, another shoves. They scratch, taunt and glare as I beg them to get along... and the beat goes on. We are blessed with a two-week plus one extra day spring break here in Chandler. Oh joy...

Not a moment’s peace... one week was manageable, I filled the time with my limited budget, but two weeks and a day... are they insane? And the week they return, they have Monday off, go back for three days and are off again on Friday.

Even if I had a limitless budget, I couldn’t possibly keep them busy enough. My children honestly spend more time and effort combating each other than they do on any other pursuit. This morning it was the wrongful accusation of a stolen doll, tattle-tailing about un-brushed teeth, and, “It’s not fair, they won’t let me be the caboose! I want to play choo-choo too!”

Our afternoon frolic to the park, was rained out... and as I write I can hear pounding feet on the second floor and the high pitched squeal of my son... delight or rage? That is yet to be determined... I better go check.

After checking, it turns out that it was my younger daughter who was screaming. When I inquired what the problem was, she started sniveling that, “They were laughing at me.”

“Well, isn’t that better than them throwing things at you,” I say trying to make light of the situation, salvaging what had been a 1-hour long stint with negligible fighting.


“They were throwing things... at my doll’s house,” she complained, as my son melts down into laughter in the hall. “Then he stuck my play phone down his pants.”

“Eeeeewww, for Pete’s sake Max... Why?” I ask. Is that a boy thing?

“I can’t touch my phone noooooow. Please wash it moooooommmmmy. It‘s covered with gross pee-pee germs,” Sara moans.

“Sara was trying to kick me,” he sputters a made up story to validate his actions between uncontrollable giggles.

I shake my head and begin walking away. Not too bad considering, right? First, no one was bleeding. Second, I was almost able to ignore the completely chaotic state of the four upstairs bedrooms. As my face contorts, in recognition of the utter disaster they have created, Sara looks at me, tilts her head and smiles, “We made a resort.”

Do they toss Barbie heads at you when you stay at a resort? Throw all the bedding onto the floor? Remove hundreds of books from the shelves to make a highway? I obviously haven’t stayed at the right ones.

Would resort staff bellow my name, “Moooooooommmm, moooooooommmmm,” over and over from the top of the stairs? Would they threaten to choke each other if I didn’t comply with their requests? Or boot-kick my favorite stuffy over the banister?

Hmmmmm??? I’m thinking that it is quite a blessing I can’t afford a resort stay at this time... I have about as much relaxation and comfort as I can handle right here in my own lunatic lodge.