Girls Week 2031! Woot!

When I’m up to my neck in teething and diaper blowouts and toddler fury, I have a go-to fantasy. I imagine that I skip town with my girlfriends and we escape for a Girls Week of chit chat, margaritas, cute outfits, slow mornings, and warm (not sweaty) sunshine. We are free and life is leisurely. Somebody says something witty and we all crack up. It looks like an episode of Sex in the City and we are stunning in our designer bathing suits.

Of course, it isn’t going to happen. Can you imagine the logistics? A dozen moms leave Orlando at once and I swear the city would implode. Ripple effects you wouldn’t believe. Dads leaping off tall buildings, grandparents resigning from their posts, children weeping over empty lunch boxes. Chaos.

So my fantasy has evolved into a Girls Week (Month?) after our children are grown. My youngest is 6 months old, so I calculate he should be leaving for college in August 2031. Girls Week 2031. I visit the fantasy every day of my life. It plays out like this:

Scene 1:

“Zadie, please stop throwing pennies down the stairs. Your brother will choke! STOP. Omigod! Not the whole piggy ban……..”

CRASH.

“Girls Week 2031.” I get the broom and set to work.

Scene 2:

“Come on, it’s time for church. Come on. Get your shoes. Come on. Let’s go. Come on. Come to the door. Bring the shoes! To the door. C’mon. Uggggh. Girls Week 2031.” I pick her up screaming and we go.

Scene 3:

“Did you have fun? Awesome! Yes, you can have ONE drink at the water fountain. Quickly. Mmmm, nice and cold! All right that’s good. Okay. Your shirt is getting wet. Okay, other kids want a drink. Okay. That’s enough. Come on. 1, 2…” Girls Week 2031 as she rockets from the water fountain and runs soaking wet toward the parking lot.

Girls Week 2031, right? You could dig it, right? You can’t wait? Pumped? Can you IMAGINE how awesome it would be to finally have time with the women you love so dearly to just relax? I CANNOT WAIT!

Except it’s not going to happen. Can I be serious for a sec? Let’s look at how life really works. In 2031, 18 years from now, some of us will be sick. Really sick. Some of us will be losing our parents. Some of us will be so worried about our kids we can’t begin to think about anything but them.

2031 might bring the joy of a little more free time but it will bring its own troubles too. For now, in the middle of the chaos, let’s be glad these goofball toddlers and their antics are the only things keeping us from our sun-soaked fantasy yachts. And since nothing can keep us from our margaritas, clink! Cheers, ladies. Now, and in 2031, whatever it brings.