In about a week, I will pack up my girls (ages 4 and 2) and head to Hawaii for three weeks. Sound resplendent? Not quite.
My mom lives in Hawaii and so we visit at least once a year, but it's so. not. a. vacation. when you have kids with you. Ooh! Let's share a hotel room with the kids so either we all have to go to bed at 7:30 or we're all up until 2:00 AM! Come on! It'll be fun!!! Side note: what is it about a hotel that the minute you cross the threshold with small children they will inevitably pick up a freak stomach virus and be vomiting within hours? Happens every time.
It's not a vacation when you're using the ice bucket as a puke-catcher. It's traveling. Traveling with kids. Gone are the days when I could slather on the Bain de Soleil (SPF 0) and wave down cabana boys when my Mai Tais ran low. (Mmmm rum. Sweet, sweet nectar of the gods. How I miss you.) No more sitting on the beach with the ear phones on reading the latest Judith Krantz novel. (That Princess Daisy girl-on-girl scene? I know you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.) Sure, I could leave the kids with my mom and try to sneak away for some "me time," but I get the "How long will you be gone?" action, and, you know. Why bother.
Don't get me wrong, my mom is a very adoring grandmother, but she's not going to play Candyland or make animals out of Play-Doh. She'll hit her stride with the girls when they are old enough to see A Chorus Line.
So until then, it's me vs. them. Me trying trying to keep the two-year-old from running headlong into the surf or crapping in my mom's pool. Me helping to brush every speck of sand off my four-year-old's towel and holding her in the ocean so that her entire torso remains dry lest she get a droplet of water on her face.
On second thought, cabana boy, I'll have another Mai Tai, please.
[photo of "Bunny" hating nature by CityMama]
