A Lesson in Spontaneity

I have never been known for my spontaneity. In college, I would be lying in bed with my light off and one of my roommates would bust in, "Hey, we're going to Wal-Mart to get some cookie dough. Do you want to go?" I would mildly begin to panic. It's bedtime. This wasn't on my calendar. This wasn't my plan. I would often go after much persuasion, usually with my arms crossed and a miserable look on my face. I once made myself dress in all black and play cemetery capture the flag at midnight. 

Rewind to Friday night. I'm getting ready to start on supper and Justin calls from work. "Let's go to Memphis tonight!" he suggests excitedly. 

"Huh? Why?" 

"Just go take a shower and get packed. You'll have fun." 

After I hung up, I was confused but began to get ready. I knew if I thought too long about it, I would begin to reason myself out of leaving town.

I realized something this weekend: There is always something you are leaving behind. Laundry. Dishes. Checklists. But sometimes you just have to take off while you still can. 

We went swimming in the hotel pool. We're sitting there in the hot tub--probably staring lovingly into each other's eyes--when we hear a series of plops, splashes and giggles. In an instant, we are no longer alone in the small circular haven. Five--yes, five--cute, freckled-face redheaded siblings all under the age of 8 have decided to join us.

They stared at us in amazement, like we were a zoo exhibit. We would try to make conversation and they wouldn't utter a word; only look at each other with this unspoken code. They probably didn't know that two parent-age adults could coexist alone, without 5 clones following them into Quality Suites. One of the youngest ones waved violently at me. I waved back only to find that she was waving at her mother who was peering through the window from their first-floor room. I have no doubt that Mom sent Dad with his iPad and munchkins to give her 30 seconds to take a shower in complete solitude.

We had no solitude, however, until Justin bravely scooped every bug from in front of Lucy--OK, I have no clue if that's her name, but she looks like a Lucy to me. I may not know her name, but Lucy does not like bugs. But Lucy does have a strong set of lungs, this we know.    

We quietly made our way to the main pool, allowing enough time for the children not to think we were leaving because of them. They watched as I dramatically made my entrance into the freezing water, grinning from ear to ear as I let out those standard, "I'm cold" sound effects. They then made their way to join us once more. 

The kids were adorable, don't get me wrong. But they were a subtle reminder that if I am going to start being spontaneous, now is certainly the time. Sometimes, when you get married, people automatically skip the whole first part and begin to inquire about when you're starting a family. 

I choose to think that this is a very special time, and I am going to try to soak it up and stop being such a bad sport. There will come a day when leaving on a whim will not even be an option. 

So anytime my fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants husband suggests something, I am going to first think of my little red-headed hot tub friends. There will come a day when I want to share my bubble with kids, 10 stuffed animals and a dog, but for now, I am confident that a pool for two is worth diving into.