If there is a vacation to be had, it's generally me organizing it. For weeks, I look forward to the trip. Then, a few days before we leave, I get a horrific spike of anxiety. There's just so much small shit to take care of, and no time!
I have to touch base with my ex and parents about the kids. I have to call the kennel to make double sure that the dates are right. I have to make sure we have enough cords to charge our shit (because my husband BLESS HIS SHITTY HEART has a habit of forgetting his cords and taking mine). I have to double check to make sure I packed enough clothes. I have to make sure I didn't pack too much. I have to make sure my books are actually downloaded and not still in the cloud. I have to prep my fish so he can be watched by my father-in-law.
We're gone for ten days, so I have to make sure bills are scheduled to be paid and a check is left for the cleaning service and we have enough in checking to cover our vacation expenses because Internet will be expensive so I can't do last minute transfers. I have to double and triple check that I've printed out everything we need for flights, the ship, the kids, the dog, and the hotel. I have to make sure we have meds because, once again, husband likes to forget those then steal mine!
I have to pack for the kids, which includes their clothes and entertainment because they'll go nuts after a few days and my ex doesn't have much at his place to keep them content. I have to wait until the last minute to do that because they don't have a surplus of pants, and I'm pretty sure my son's eaten all his socks again so we'll have to do a Target run to get him more.
And then everyone looks at you weird because why the hell are you complaining about going on vacation?