I Have A Dream
by Linda M. Sharp

While I enjoy the company of my kids, taking them on a trip has become an expensive proposition. Airplane tickets are not cheap, and all my children have had the audacity to grow, so no one can sit in our laps for free anymore.

A breeze slowly moved the palms as I walked down the sandy beach, clad in a bikini top, teeny grass skirt, carrying a coconut filled with a tropical drink of some sort. The sun was warm on my tanned skin, and in the distance, a handsome face beckoned me closer ... closer ... closer ... BRRRRRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG ... then the alarm went off.  DRAT! Only a dream. I begrudgingly rolled out of bed and greeted another day that was far removed from any tropic port of call.

I have had the same dream several times over the past few weeks, so I researched these images in a dream book. The specialist/author, who speaks fluent Craponese, uses Ph.D.-sounding jargon to explain away these nocturnal visions - like the palm trees represents my over-protective parents, the warm sun, my subconscious desire to be a flower of some sort, and the handsome face indicating an attraction to a more abundant lifestyle. At the risk of attempting to speak a second language, "Crapola."

Any parent would tell you that all this dream represents is my severe desire to GO ON A VACATION WITHOUT MY CHILDREN. All right, all right, it also represents a desire to once again enjoy the grandeur of wearing a bikini. (However, after three children, I have a bit too much "grandeur" to squeeze into one.) And sure, I would love to sport a grass skirt that requires a few less acres of sod than it actually would. As for the handsome face in the distance? That actually is my husband, from whom I am always separated by an ocean of children.

While I enjoy the company of my kids, taking them on a trip has become an expensive proposition. Airplane tickets are not cheap, and all my children have had the audacity to grow, so no one can sit in our laps for free anymore. There is our 3 year old who is petite and short, so we could try to "stroller" her through. Unfortunately, she is also our outgoing child who tells everyone she meets that she will be "Four in Ogstust" and that "Daddy made a steeeenker." Anyone have one of those chewy granola bars to shove in her mouth?

Even if you get past the cost of the flight, there is the price of hotel rooms, hotel food, hotel surcharges and taxes. I can almost live with the room and food costs, I mean we have to sleep and eat, but the new surcharges being tacked on everywhere are ridiculous. "Welcome to The Make-u-pore Resort. Your confirmed room rate is two gazillion dollars per night, with an added surcharge of a bazillion dollars per day. This surcharge covers daily delivery of USA Today, local phone calls and the cost of the General Manager's new Porsche." Give me a break. Even at home I never have time to read a food label, much less a paper. And the only calls I might make are to the local Pizza Hut when the kids get sick of hotel hot dogs five days in a row. As for the Porsche? Well, that General Manager had better hope he and I do not cross paths in the lobby.

This summer, our vacation options are limited by the wedding of my sister taking place in September. We will be spending an arm, a leg, two eyeballs and a spleen to fly all five of us from Oregon to St. Louis. St. Louis? Yes, and let me just take this opportunity to publicly say, "I love you Sis, but for this kind of money, why can't you live in Hawaii?!?!?" Just kidding; we'd be there even if she lived in Armpit, Nebraska. It does, however, mean that we will spend the summer months at home going to the park, the pool, recovering from the spleenectomy.

I can still dream though. And in my dreams I will don my bikini and visit all those wonderful ports of call, all those islands ending in "i" - Hawaii, Bali, Fiji, Italy. (OK, ok, I know that last one is not an island and ends in a "y," but it is on my wish list, capice?) And if I get really desperate for a taste of the exotic? You just may find me wandering the Mexican and Chinese food aisles of my local grocery store, clad in my jog bra and flip flops, carrying a coconut stolen from the produce department. Aloha.

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