break

In some failed relationships, there is a moment when the circling and waiting finally swerves and crashes, tearing apart into a debris field of separated belongings, removed photos, deleted computer files, empty liquor bottles, spatters of mental anguish, and glossy chunks of heart tissue.

The emotional shrapnel isn't mine this time, I am just ducking and cussing to myself. This is a lot of fallout for a 4-month relationship.

But before I finally said the words, "You need to leave," there was a perfect Labor Day weekend with my kids and their dad. He wrote about it here.

Whatever problems Mike and I have had, getting along has never been one of them. For three days, we laid around the hotel pool, visited the aquarium, played mini-putt, ate ridiculous quantities of good food, harassed parrots, and watched movies in our jammies. And every time we got into the car, this song played, until we were smacking each other and making accusing eyebrows as to who's karma was trying to make amends with who's:

As soon as the plane left with the man on it, Black Parade started playing. I laughed helplessly. The radio is possessed. Or the car.

Notable vacation moments:

Thai food - eaten on the hotel coffee table, as if by ravenous wolves.

The aquarium shark tunnel, filled with small children holding their parents' iPhones, running in schools to capture every sea creature that swam by the window.

Leif slipping off the pool steps and tried to drown, necessitating a leap into the water while fully dressed by his heroic mother. "I sinked. I was skeered," said the shivering boy afterward. We went back to the hotel room and played with the Playstation.

Mini-putt, under an enormous fake volcano with cascading waterfalls.

Bumper-boats. Everyone rammed each other and the kids assaulted us with water cannons.  Not a good time to wear a skirt.

A dubious encounter with "Green Burrito". With cardboard pornstaches in the kiddie meals.

Use of age-old traveler's trick for finding good breakfast joints: drive around and look for crowds in some hole-in-the-wall cafe. We scored fantastic biscuits and gravy, with cinnamon buns the size of a baby's head.



It was good. We needed it.