An excerpt from an email:
Dear ______,
As I so often do, I had perfectly envisioned sitting on the window seat by our beautiful, full-wall window that faces the beach, coffee cup close by, ceiling fan lightly swirling, and the pink noise of the waves wafting through as I wrote a sunny beach update to my friend.
My imagination ran away with me. Big time.
I’m currently on the king size bed in the middle of a single room. The blankets are strewn haphazardly, there are dishes in the sink, and Owen and Felix are wrestling on the sofa bed next to me. My window seat has been commandeered by James, because this room only sleeps 4 and he needed a bed. Roy is reading an article called “How to Land Your Kid in Therapy” from The Atlantic, which is super appropro because after this week they’re going to be ready for it.
Roy and I were so looking forward to 5 days of leisurely conversation, walks and runs, a few nicer restaurants, sleeping in, and maybe a little shopping. Conversation has been more like:
(At 5:30AM:) “Mom, I had a terrible dream that a dragon coughed on me and I burst into flames.”
“Mom, can we go to the beach yet?”
“buuuuurrrrrrp” (This is Felix’s new skill he taught himself and he just walks around constantly belching in our faces.)
“Um, excuse me, but I was wondering if we could have a little snack?”
“Mom, how much longer until we can head down to the beach?”
“We only have granola and muffins for breakfast? I was hoping for pancakes.”
“buuuuuurrrrrrrrrpppppppp” <gleeful grin>
“Mom, I am DYYYYYIIIIING to head down to the beach.”
“Um, Mom, I don’t mean to bother you, but I was hoping for something for dinner other than chili.”
“buuuuuurrrrrrrpppppppp”
“Mommmmm, Felix is annoying me and then I accidentally, but maybe on purpose, hit him.”
“I’m sorry Felix that I hurt you. Will you forgive me?”
“buuuuuurrrrrrpppppppp!!!”
I ended up cooking for 2 days straight before we left so we could eat in the room because once you enlarge your group by 150% eating out feels prohibitive. (And the only place they want to eat is McDonalds anyway…seafood is a big fat no thank you.)
When we ARE finally at the beach we’ve found that it’s nearly impossible to focus on a good book or conversation because we have to constantly keep an eye on the boys to make sure they don’t drift too far down the shore or get overtaken by a wave or try to kidnap a dog. The kids go to bed at 8, which means we go to bed at 8.
Roy and I did trade early morning beach runs yesterday, which was nice, but it was not together. And I got a blister on my foot.
Last night Owen and Felix absolutely refused to cohabitate the pullout queen sofa bed and I ended up sleeping with Owen and Roy with Felix.
This is the worst romantic getaway vacation ever.
...
