Recently, my husband and I tried to be fun and took our kids to the beach for a week. As it turned out, we are the antithesis of fun, and it quickly became apparent that beach vacationing may be out of our league. FAR out of our league.
The whole messy business started with packing. We were due to leave Saturday. On the Tuesday before, my husband started casually talking about getting things together for our trip. Naturally, I had a panic attack, poured myself a stiff drink, and tried to pretend that 4 days was actually scads of time. Somehow Tuesday morphed into Friday night, I still had a drink in hand, and was debating the benefit of attempting to flee the country vs. pack my family for a week away. If you have kids, you will get why this was a toss-up.
My husband packed up himself and most of the stuff for the kids in approximately five minutes. He then told me to “just throw a few outfits for myself in the bag”. I looked at him like he had three heads. He suggested I “just take one pair of jeans“. How had I married this creature?? Shoving down strong suspicions that he was mentally unbalanced when he implied that I didn’t need to pack any jewelry for the week, I cozied up to a long night with multiple suitcases, counting out diapers for the week, and packing excess ponchos in the event of a monsoon. It was good times.
But hey, no worries. Sleepless night of packing be darned, because a beach vacation was on the horizon. Sleep, relaxation, and endless hours of novel-reading were awaiting me. Oh yeaaaaaaah….
Sad news: we have children. Everyone had always warned me, “Vacationing with kids is not a vacation, it’s a trip.” And they were right. So right. I will go eat crow for ever doubting them and then get right back to you…
To make it even more fun, our dog decided to get in on the destroy-vacation fun, and rocked a nasty stomach bug for the week that required us taking him out every 1-2 hrs. AROUND THE CLOCK FOR THE ENTIRE WEEK. Oh yes, friends, it really was this sweet.
Toss in the fact that the beach house lacked the promised wi-fi (maybe a hidden blessing for this obsessive blogger??) and washer/dryer combo (new-found respect for Laura Ingalls hand-scrubbing the crap out of her clothes in the river–at least I had a bathtub), and it was a solid “I am never attempting vacation again”.
And then we found ourselves back at home, traumatized by the initial stress of packing, followed by a solid week of no sleep, a sick doggie, and two kiddos who had the most of fun of their lives. What’s that? ? Yeah, the kids kind of totally dug the sand, waves, ice cream nights and hanging out with their family for a whole week.
So you’ll excuse me while I go troll around online to book our vacay for next year. It was that awesome of a thing that I will never, ever do again…