The Really Important Things

Before my husband and I said our “I do’s,” friends said we should iron out the really important things. So Mr. Hall and I sat down and agreed that sex, politics, and religion were all really important things. How easy was that?! But maybe that’s not exactly what they meant. Because soon enough, along came other really important things.
 
Like who should get up in the middle of the night with the screaming, crying babies (not so much Mr. Hall). Or who should help the kiddies with their homework (ditto). Or who should fill out the income taxes (oh, yeah; that’s where Mr. Hall comes in).
 
Just when we patted ourselves on the back for getting through all that, along came something else: what to do on vacation. And it’s been trouble ever since.
 
The trouble started when Mr. Hall balked about the beach vacation. He put up with the beach in the beginning of our married life because he could see that was really important to me. And the benefits of married life were really important to him. But then the kids came along.
 
I still loved my relaxing days at the beach, an ocean breeze caressing my face while my children frolicked in the surf like something out of a Ralph Lauren magazine ad.  But Mr. Hall’s day at the beach was like something out of a Stephen King horror story, except with a lot more sun.
 
Was it the three little ones hanging on dad like rabid howler monkeys whenever it was time to go in the water? Was it the two-ton cooler that he had to drag to the beach? Was it lugging mini-beach bums on his lobster-red shoulders all the way back to the house because the sand was too hot for the kiddies’ feet?
 
Who knows? All I know is that the beach days with Mr. Hall came to a screeching halt.
 
So we considered a fun-filled vacation at a theme park. Rides, entertainment, thrills galore! With air-conditioning and drinks provided! Pack the car, folks, we’re going to Disneyworld!
 
The children were the perfect age: old enough for the kiddie rides, but not old enough for the insane roller coasters. We hit the gates bright and early…along with seven thousand other park visitors. Crowds are not really that important to me, but for Mr. Hall they turned out to be terribly important. Our entire strategy consisted of finding rides or shows or restaurants that we could get into with no wait. Of course, there’s a very good reason why no one was waiting at those venues.
 
Eventually, the kiddies were able to dash off on their own in the wonderful world of theme parks. Lucky kiddies. I was left with Mr. Hall, who will watch singing bears, sit in a clam shell, or ride a teacup if he’s nice and cool. Which was fine when we had children in tow. Now, it’s a little creepy.
 
We’ve tried golfing adventures (good news: golf carts, bad news: everything else), historical jaunts (remember the Alamo? Mr. Hall is still trying to forget that trip), and walking tours (we didn’t see any ghosts, but Mr. Hall was pretty scary).
 
Every year, we argue, moan and groan about our vacation. And that’s before we ever leave the house. But the really important thing is that, eventually, the Halls spend a few days together, recharging our batteries and rejuvenating our spirits.
 
When we get home from vacation.

Cathy C. Hall is a humor columnist and freelance writer. She tells her family that she only writes about them once in a blue moon, but you can find out the truth at www.cathychall.blogspot.com.