It's Nick's spring break week this week. The weather is gorgeous — spring has catapulted us overnight into summer, and the flowers seem to be vying with each other to display their showiest effects. It's almost too hot out, but after a long, hard winter it's hard to complain about that. We had a lovely Easter celebration over the weekend — friends, food and wine were all abundant, and everyone seemed relaxed and happy.
But. (There's always a "but," isn't there?)
But it's not my spring break. So, though I enjoyed the opportunity to sleep a few minutes past my usual 6:30 waking time — a time dictated by Nick's schedule — I was still up and out of the house before he was up. And I will be, it seems, all week.
For the second "break" in a row, I'm not on break. Two weeks ago Mariah was on break, and I took one day "off" to spend with her. (I put "off" in quotation marks because, of course, I answered e-mail and did some class prep, even though I didn't come in to the office.) This week I may not even manage that.
I can't really complain. Since my husband is between jobs, he's available for Nick. Today that meant home improvement projects; tomorrow it's chauffeur service to bring a friend over to play. Later this week it may mean a trip to the beach, or to DC — or just more house projects. Either way, they'll be fine. It's just me — something in me feels somehow wronged by the mismatch in our schedules.
What happens when the breaks don't match up, actually, is that my break becomes an opportunity to play catch-up rather than a vacation. Since Nick wasn't off, I got up at the usual time. Some days I went in to the office — there was still plenty to do. Other days I worked at home. And, since Nick did have one free day during that week, we skipped out on teacher conferences and spent a long weekend with my parents (thus enabling the multi-hour reknitting project). It really wasn't all bad, at all. It's just that seeing him on a real vacation makes me long for one.
Maybe June. I'd better start planning now.