It’s that time of year again, the calm (hahaha) before the storm. Mr. Manthing has decided we’re taking a break before the begin of the harvest because otherwise he’s going to fall all apart. Again. As in physically and mentally broken. As in like me.

NOOO!

So word has come down from on high (his office upstairs) that a vacation will be taken before the harvest starts!

I won’t mention (too loudly, at least) the number of times this same message has come from that same place in the same booming, god-like voice. “We WILL go away soon!”

Soon is the word that’s up for interpretation. I’ve heard all about how things will calm down soon for years now. Years later, I’m still waiting for things to calm down, for the number of hours spent away from home at various meetings, conferences and other time consuming extra-agricultural-if-very-important activities to diminish (instead of rising), for the man I married, who promised me ‘dull as hell’ and ‘boring’ to reappear. I should probably give up, and I will, soon.

So, back to now. The harvest is starting soon, the last bit of preparatory work will be done soon, details for the baby-sitter(s) will be completed soon and we’re leaving soon.

Or are we?

See, we’re both very different people. Stress the VERY. My idea of a break is a nice all-inclusive something, where I don’t cook, don’t clean, eat well, and see/do interesting things until I’m bored with them with a bit of sleeping in a very comfy bed. Mr. Manthing’s idea of a break is sleeping, sleeping and… well, let’s just say that all the activities he’d consider participating in would take place in-between naps and without moving very far. And sustenance for said activities could be purchased at deep discounts beforehand and kept in an insulated bag for the duration. All very convenient—probably the only time convenience enters into his way of thinking.

So we’re trying to figure out what to do—not an easy task considering what interests me is very much too expensive and too busy and what interests him makes me want to bang my head against those 80-cm thick walls separating us from the outside. I guess I should be jumping for joy, because this is honestly the closest we’ve been to doing something together since our honeymoon (rolls eyes at the memory of that debacle), but there’s still that (very large and loud) part of my brain that seriously doubts that this plan will come to fruition. And God knows that just kills all motivation I could possible force myself to muster.