Women gone wild

I'm really annoyed when the media/world/general public refers to females over the age of 18 as "girls." Yet I also remember being a freshman in college and struggling to get used to us being called "women" by our professors. And though males over 18 are often called "guys" instead of "men," it's somehow just more casual, rather than demeaning. Language is so complicated. But wait, that's not the point of this post. Sorry. I've been on spring break all week, and I tend to digress even more than usual when I'm not working.Last weekend, four of my friends and I rented a cabin near Brainerd, Minnesota, packed up our favorite kinds of snacks and liquor, and left our spouses and 8 children at home so we could laugh and eat and put on too many fake tattoos and update facebook and talk and watch movies from the '80s and drink margaritas and champagne and pretend we were cougars and go to new bars and eat exotic bar food. We were gone for two nights, which was a scheduling miracle, and just long enough to start to kind of miss our families. A little.

It was wonderful. Sarah thought it up, sending us an e-mail in mid-February saying essentially "I'm going crazy! Can we run away?" I think she was surprised when Carla, Tenessa, Susanne, and I all said "Us too. Let's go."

Motherhood rocks. So does finding a person with whom you want to share your life. But both are exhausting, too. Despite the Disney myth of happily ever after, or the social construct of fulfillment through family, I need more. I need 48 hours of laughing until vodka comes out my nose (oh, it burns!) and waking up with a houseful of people who don't need me to do anything for them before we can start our day. It makes me a better Mama, and a better wife. It makes me, most importantly, a happier girl. Or woman. Either way.