Today, I’ll be giving you a view of our master bathroom. Please don’t think me a bad housekeeper because of the hideous shelf paper and chipped wood. We’ve been redecorating this room…for almost eleven years.

This is my husband’s shelf. The trimmer set is only used for about a month out of the year when he grows a goatee. Also, keep in mind that we share the dental floss and mouthwash. I wouldn’t want you to think the jumbo Blue Mint is because the poor guy has a major case of halitosis.

This is my shelf. Actually, there’s even more stuff hidden in a nearby cabinet. About three times more stuff. It takes a village, people. It takes a village.

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Tomorrow afternoon, I am leaving for my annual girl’s trip, which we refer to as our GGW, or Girl’s Get-Away Weekend. Our husbands call it Girls Gone Wild. Hardly. Last year I got a concussion and we sat around making pot holders.

There is always a lot of planning and organization involved with stepping out of my routine and having my husband step in, but throw in having no electricity for four days…with no end in sight…and you’ll see one Mommy whose head feels like it may pop off.

We have been living in limbo since Sunday, shuttling back and forth between my Mom’s house, 20 miles from here. Thank goodness, there hasn’t been any school. There are no batteries anywhere in town, stations have run out of gas, and when I called around looking for a generator, people laughed at me.

But, our GGW house has power and we’ve spent a small fortune to rent the place…which some of us can’t even afford. Have I mentioned that I’m in the mortgage business? Regardless, this is our one opportunity each year to have a real break, recharge and eat obscene amounts of chocolate.

My husband will be busy while I’m gone, driving the kids around to various activities, all while treating every intersection like a four-way stop.

He will entertain them without the use of TV, Wii, or computer. He will continue to drive 20 minutes, each way, twice a day, to charge a battery in hopes of keeping our fish alive (we’ve only lost one, so far). And, he will have to make due without any cold food or drinks, grocery stores with doors closed to the public, and no ice available within city limits.

But, he will not be the only frazzled person in this family. Today, I have to make lists and schedules, pack my stuff…and somehow find a liquor store that’s open so I can buy my vodka. Some of us have real priorities.

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When I recently took a job as a teacher’s aide, I stipulated that I could never assist in a classroom above second grade. Why? Because I wouldn’t be able to handle the math.

When I was in the eighth grade, I was in an advanced math class. I don’t know how I got there, but I do know that any skill I had in the numbers department ended in that class. Not only that, but it seems my brain went through some sort of regression in the summer before high school. Once I started ninth grade, algebra seemed as easy as studying metaphysics…in Latin.

This did not lead to a stellar academic path. My grades were excellent in anything involving language arts, journalism and communications, but by my senior year I was taking “College Prep Math” which was taught by the football coach.

People mostly referred to the class as “College Football Math”, though that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The goth girls and burn-out’s who sat around me didn’t know offense from defense.

Now, I have a fourth grader who is bringing home real math homework and who is participating in something called the Metric Olympics at her school. Last year, she memorized her multiplication tables in no time flat, and would finish timed-tests so quickly that I think she once gave herself a pedicure before the next kid turned in his paper.

That’s my girl! She’s a regular chip off the old block. Her father, that is. I may be bad with numbers, but I’m smart as a whip.

I married a math major.

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Tomorrow is our 11th wedding anniversary. Despite our lousy vacation luck, we’re dropping the kids and the dog off with sitters, then we’re headed here.

Here is a forest, with a hillside lodge, lake, golf course, pool and many outdoor activities.

While determining our excursions, we certainly know we won’t be horseback riding. The first time we tried this, my husband’s horse firmly decided to NOT climb the hill back to the stables, so we instead traveled through thick brush that left us looking like Indiana Jones had used us for whipping practice.

The second time we rode horses (on our honeymoon), the guide took the two of us along a cliff in Hawaii…a cliff right next to a shooting range. I don’t know who was more spooked by the gunshots, me or the horses. Probably me.

Maybe I’ve watched too many westerns, but I was just waiting for my horse to rear up at the sound of a rifle, at which point I would go tumbling down the mountain. My husband would’ve heard a lot less nagging these last 11 years, that’s for sure.

We also won’t be climbing in a canoe. The last time the two of us went canoeing, we managed to tip ourselves, the entire contents of our very full cooler, wallets, phones, everything…in about two feet of water. Yes, you read that correctly…two feet. It barely covered our knees, and yet we were drenched from head to toe.

And golf? Well, I’m a hack at best, so that’s out.

Besides being with my husband, taking in the beautiful scenery and the poolside bar, I am most excited about the lodge’s treadmill. I’m pretty sure it won’t need to be uncluttered before I can use it.

I know I’m in the minority when I say I get excited about working out while on vacation. But, that’s just because of the aforementioned clutter, and because I often have to stop my treadmill in the middle of a run to get someone a snack, or fix a computer problem, or wipe a child’s butt. These kids? They’re so needy.

But, treadmill or not, I’m looking forward to some alone with my man. Leisurely strolls around the lake, good food, tasty wine, and of course…there will be me kicking his butt at Scrabble. Happy Anniversary, Honey! I’m totally going to triple-word-score on you.

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