I was in Vegas.
This is unusual. Not the least of which is that I don't vacation. I'm a worker. I work. Vacations are for people who have leisure time. My leisure time is filled with laundry. Or, filled with the guilt of not doing laundry. Fine line.
Instead of staying at home as this past weekend, I went to Las Vegas with a bunch of moms (Phread, Sue, and Tiffany.) I cannot even tell you how fantastic it is to travel with other moms.
You know how you plan for trips with your family? Every detail, every eventuality to the extent that is humanly possible, is accounted for. I got into the car and Sue had set out a new bottled water in each of our cupholders. I grabbed her purse for her and noticed she'd packed four string cheeses. Jenny had a piece of trash in her hand and hesitated over where to put it. I held up the paper bag I'd already designated as the garbage bag. It's like being a trip where other people are planning everything for you. It's AMAZING.
Even more amazing: how relaxing a five hour drive is when all you're doing is listening to music, reading a book, or chatting. I sat snugged into the back seat and stared out the window, happy to not being doing anything else. I'd forgotten how it can be to travel when you don't have to monitor anyone else's potty breaks; it's true, my companions can be trusted to tinkle by themselves. I didn't have to break up even one fight. No one yelled at me because someone else was in their space. No one got hit. Nobody made loud, repetitive noises. No cereal massacre in the backseat. No one got squirted with a juice box. No one threw up. Sometimes, we shot down the highway in utter silence, and everyone was AWAKE. So this is how the other half lives. Mama like.
The mountains slid into high desert plains, and then back to rockier mountains rich in iron-ore. A thousand joshua trees in bloom. The red iron-ore seeping back until replaced by sandy browns and stone-rubble hills. Down, down the canyons until the far away lights reflected the clouds. "Is that Vegas over those hills?" asked Phread, "Where the clouds are tinted red with the fires of Hell?" I giggled and tried really hard to stop quoting The Hangover.
Phread and Sue started discussing nicknames of men that Phread had run into during her line of work as her father's daughter. My giggling from thinking about The Hangover spilled out, "I, uh, I know a Tuna and a Gravy."
"I know Tuna and Gravy. They were two guys a couple years older than I am. One's nickname is Tuna, and his step-brother is Gravy. Everyone called them Tuna and Gravy. I don't think I even retained their real names, I'm pretty sure that everyone forgot their real names. I mean, they're Tuna and Gravy!" I collapsed into a fit of laughing. It's one of those things you just stop thinking is funny when you're young; it's just Tuna and Gravy. And then, as an adult, you realize that there are still grown men driving around somewhere who you still think about as being TUNA AND GRAVY.
And that drove everyone else into corresponding fits of giggles.
More dispatches from Vegas ahead...