Every trip we go on, I take notes throughout, in preparation for writing a recap blog to remember it by. Inevitably, after we return home, I slip into not just the post vacation blues, but the real life is meaningless, I miss the beach, my family actually drives me bonkers much of the time, I should quit my job and live off the grid depths of despair.
Which, unfortunately, can take me awhile to climb out of. And by that time I've lost the desire to write about our adventures, lest it send me tumbling back into the depths. My notes from Paris/London are still on my phone. Perhaps one day they'll make it on to my computer for your reading enjoyment.
I have just awoken from a delightful afternoon nap, snuggled up with Gizzie, who was most excited to get picked up from the kennel today. I try to explain to her each time, that we went away on a long trip and couldn't bring her us. We didn't just drop her off at prison and party at home without her, which is what I always fear she believes happens. George is her protector at the kennel. They sleep together, eat together, and when they let them outside, Gizzie runs ahead but continues looking back to make sure he's right there with her.
At home, he can't even look her direction without her snapping at him and letting him know she's the boss here. Her little 8 lb yorkie poo self putting his 80 lb pit bull self in place.
Now where were we? Ah, yes, refreshed from the nap I convinced David I needed after an exhausting day of travel (2+ hour flight from Tampa). And so far, I'm still in good spirits (no doubt he had the flight attendant slip a little something into my cranberry juice).
"Why do you get cranberry juice on every flight?" Reese asked.
The answer is. I really don't know. I think I started doing it back when I first started flying. Before I was an adult and could buy my own juice. And it's just a habit that's stuck with me. I realize stores carry gallons of cranberry juice that rarely makes its way to our fridge. But by golly, that little 6oz cold plastic cup of cranberry juice from Southwest Airlines is a treat.
You know that ice breaker question, "If you could have someone do one chore for you for free for the rest of your life, what would it be?". And normal people pick cooking, or cleaning? Mine would be...packing! Ok, yes, my view of this question is a bit skewed because I do have someone who does the cooking and his name is David. But I absolutely abhor packing. I only have to do it two or three times a year...but I. Hate. It. It stresses me out. It overwhelms me. I procrastinate until the literal last minute, usually finishing up as we're heading out the door. Tossing in random things like a gun is pointed at my head and this is the last time I will ever be in my house. What do I need to grab??
Meanwhile, David saunters upstairs the night before, grabs a few undergarments and socks from his neatly organized drawers, a few pressed shirts off his symmetrically hung hangers, then lastly, retrieves a few swim trunks from their special little designated area, and voila! He's done. As I'm doing one more load of laundry to get my last few pairs of comfy undies clean, digging around the bottom of my closet for shorts that still fit and that will semi match my shirts I already had to dig to find. Where the heck my swimsuits are, your guess is as good as mine.
So I was already in a tizzy the day we left, cursing David under my breath for scheduling a morning flight the day after I had worked a 10 hour shift. If he had only scheduled it for later in the afternoon, I would have been better prepared. That is a lie. I would not have been better prepared no matter what time that flight would have been. I would still have procrastinated to the point of frenzied panic.
The evening prior, I spent tidying the house, in case our plane went down and all five of us perished. Except I ran out of steam. I thought about leaving a note explaining we weren't ransacked and taken hostage. We left of our own free will on a family vacation to Florida. I just didn't have time to organize my side of the closet by color like David's.
Oh, and David was out of town before our trip so I had to harvest cucumbers from his little backyard garden like Laura Ingalls Wilder at 7 o'clock at night because I promised him I'd watch over it while he was gone.
I assumed my hot flashes and tendency to overheat was due to my body still trying to regulate itself from my chemo induced menopause, medication side effects, and my grand finale last summer...my hysterectomy. But no. I think it's just who I am now. David turned the air up...down...whichever way it goes to save money while we're gone and by the time I plopped down in the car to head to the airport, after my hectic morning getting ready, I looked like I had just emerged from the depths of hades, sweat dripping from my face, hair plastered to my head.
"Everybody ready?" David singsonged cheerily. I grunted affirmation.
We've never had a travel disaster, thank goodness, when flying that I can remember. Like a cancelled flight, lost luggage, etc. Just some minor hiccups. David bought all of our tickets weeks ago, then remembered after the fact he has companion status, so I fly for $5 anywhere he goes. So he called the airline the night before and explained the situation. They credited him the amount he paid for my tickets, but I had to recheck myself in. Of course, I was now in the C boarding group. So I watched my little family line up in the A group, laughing and having the best of times together. I quickly texted them in the group chat to cut it out and quit making fun little inside joke memories without me.
I finally made it on. After family boarders, B group, anyone wearing the color blue, anyone named Martha May, and all those wearing checkered pants. David will only sit on the aisle. Tate and his 10 foot long legs has discovered he also prefers the aisle. Which means I was stuck smack dab in the middle of the girls. I made it seem like a fun, desirable arrangement. But I really just use them to get me onto David's free Southwest wifi that I can never figure out. We all got boarded, some maintenance men were tweaking a few things, then the announcement came that we all had to de board because the toilets wouldn't flush. But never fear, another plane for us was near.
Off we shuffled to the new gate. Where we waited another hour for the "plane that was near".
"Tate, were you kind to your seatmate on the plane?" I asked.
"Yep. I told them my name, where I lived, what school I go to, and my social security number," he replied.
A simple "no" would have sufficed.
Our plane finally arrived and we bid our goodbyes once again as I waited my turn with the C groupers, whom I was beginning to become rather chummy with. I looked up and saw David pointing at me and talking with the gate agent who also turned to look my direction. What on Earth. They stood there visiting for a few minutes, looking at the computer, each kid telling their name to him, then more pointing at me. Dear Lord, we're not making it on that plane.
Turns out, the system showed Reese had already boarded somehow when she was clearly standing right there. They got it figured out, deemed her a non threat, and boarding continued. I bid a fond farewell to my C listers who would more than likely be scattered about the plane in random middle seats as I settled in betwixt the girls and began to recalculate at precisely what time I would be squishing soft white sand between my toes with our late departure.
Most Hollaway Getaways are sun up to sun down, cram in all the sights, open and close down the parks, do all the things, eat at all the places, c-r-a-s-h. Repeat. Don't get me wrong. They're awesome. And a lot of fun. But they absolutely wear us out. This vacation, Drue was adamant be relaxing, play it by ear, not a lot of planned activities, just enjoy the moment. Which is now my new favorite way to vacation. And is what I'm guessing vacationing is all about.
6 years ago, we splurged on a beach photographer, whose photos still adorn our living room walls to this day. We decided to splurge again this trip. Seeing as Tate barely reached my shoulder in the last family photos and now I barely reach his. The only slot she had available was the night after we arrived, which was perfect, before the three pale faced people in our party got charred by the Southern sun. The magic hour is 7:40pm-8:40pm apparently, so I prepared our posse that we wouldn't be eating dinner until after pictures.
"After!?" exclaimed my man child with two hollow legs. "Why after?!".
"Because I have to fit in my dress," I explained. "And if I eat dinner before, the photographer will say, 'Oh? I didn't realize this was a maternity shoot'!".
I mentioned how I cry at the drop of a hat these days. Especially when memories of my Mom hit me. When Reese arrived home to go with us on our trip, there was a package waiting for her. It was a beautiful heart necklace with dried flowers from my Mom's casket inside. Tears immediately streamed down my face and she hadn't even been home 3 minutes. As I was getting ready for our pictures, Reese must have came out in her outfit and David remarked on her necklace and how Grandma Judy would be in our pictures. I quickly heard her shush him and say, "Don't say that to Mom! She's already got her makeup on!".
I want to be cool. I really do. And witty to talk to. But I'm just not. I'm socially awkward and my family thinks it is absolutely hilarious. Since I was the one who booked our session, I walked up to our photographer and introduced myself and the family. Things were off to a good start. Then she asked how our vacation was going so far and my awkwardness engulfed me. I said something dumb about the lizards there and she said, "Oh, is this your first time to Florida?".
I began stammering around about how we had been before, but not this far South, blah, blah, blah and heard instant snickers behind me. Later that night back in our condo, David couldn't hold it in any longer. "We've been coming to Florida almost every October for the past, what, 9 years? To Orlando! You made it seem like it was our first time here!". And he and the kids proceeded to have a good 15 minute chuckle about it.
David was a tad disappointed at the caliber of our condo, no beach chairs/cabanas to reserve, etc. But the kids and I never care where we stay. Tate was just happy to have a bed. He's slept on the couch many a vacation. As an added bonus, we got a daily dose of marijuana from the stairwell. I am still so naive and always say, "Ewww, I think a skunk sprayed nearby,". To which the kids just roll their eyes, "Really, Mom?". And then I say, "Wait! How do you guys know what that smells like?". It's a whole thing.
Our first full day was a success. Other than Reese getting sunscreen in her eyes and having to take an extended break back at the condo rinsing them out with my contact solution. David and I headed to the store to grab a few things we'd forgotten and the babies (Drue and Tate) bonded at the beach together, discovering that an 18 year old girl and 17 year old boy actually do have things in common and can enjoy each other's company without insults and name calling exclusively. I really don't know how we could have forgotten anything. The night before we had all gone to Publix for the week. I don't know what it is about vacation but we suddenly needed all the food. Things we've never eaten before in our lives made it into our cart, including my newly discovered favorite snack, Sprite flavored tic tacs. I made fun of Tate for getting them, then gobbled down the whole entire container myself over the next couple of days.
In keeping with our relaxed vibe of the trip, we decided to go explore a place each morning, then finish our days at the beach. David is obsessed with botanical gardens and has decided we will visit one on all vacations. So off we went the morning after our photo shoot. Tate is no longer the little boy who runs off. He is now the big boy who likes to go off the path and climb over railings. I looked up and there he was. Precariously perched above the pond of lily pads, and I'm guessing, crocodiles.
"We're going to be the first family to get kicked out of a free botanical garden," David mused. Every trip, Tate comes up with some random pose for pictures. I present this year's odd pose:
Is he praying? Meditating? Giving thanks to the universe at large? Who knows. But these are the precious memories we'll have of him.
I wouldn't be doing my duty as a Mother if I didn't constantly worry about dangers lurking around us. Weeks prior to our trip, I kept reading about the riptides in the Gulf. So I helpfully sent an article about them in the family group chat. As well as a picture of what to watch out for. Thankfully, we didn't encounter any during our stay. In fact, we surprisingly found a lovely sand bar out in the ocean filled with sand dollars we took turns collecting. When my turn came to take our stash in to shore, I headed in, then remembered that to get to the sand bar we had to cross a part of the ocean where we couldn't touch. There I was, not the best swimmer, but a darn good doggy paddler, fighting against the current, swimming one armed and clutching these sand dollar treasures with my bad arm, and I thought, "This is it.". This is how I am going to exit this world.
Mother of 3 Drowns Swimming to Shore with Armful of Sand Dollars would be the headline I suspected. Hey, I couldn't think of anything more creative in my final moments. And just when I turned to get one last look of my precious family at the sandbar in waist deep water, I felt the bottom of the sea beneath my toes, and realized I'd made it back to where I could touch. Stop the presses. I would live another day.
After we showered and settled in for the night, a red bump on the front of my neck caught my eye. Are there mosquitos at the beach? I googled. Not likely so. Had it been a mosquito, I would have been covered in bites and there was just the one. I decided I must have been stung by an invisible sea creature and left it at that. I was just thankful it'd happened after pictures.
David has always known he can't carry on a pleasant conversation with me past 9pm, and the kids now realize that as well. The beach drains me. I was exhausted every night. The first night, Tate randomly asked something about OJ Simpson. "Oh wow, that all happened when we were in college," I reminisced.
"What happened?" he asked.
"The infamous car chase after he murdered his ex-wife," I said.
"What was her name?" David asked aloud.
"I don't remember," I replied.
David continued to try and come up with it then said, "Well that's terrible."
"What is?" I asked.
"That we don't remember her name."
And my irrational, tired self reared her ugly head. "Why is that terrible? She was nobody to me. I didn't know her. She certainly didn't care what my name was!" I said grouchily.
Four pairs of eyes just stared back at me with laughter behind them.
"I'm sorry, dear," David apologized mockingly, "I didn't realize you felt so passionately about this."
Then the name Nicole came to me along with three word name and I blurted out, "Anna Nicole Smith" which resulted in more laughter and Tate googling it and correcting it to Nicole Brown Simpson.
"I do not care!" I said and promptly went to bed.
We couldn't go to the Gulf and not feast on a good old fashioned seafood boil. And feast, we did. Drue chose to stay home that night so just the four of us ate shrimp, crab legs, and corn until we were stuffed to the brim. Then topped it off by sharing a one pound piece of chocolate cake called "Big A$$ Chocolate Cake" on the menu that the kids took turns saying because, "Mom, that's what it's called!".
As we rolled ourselves back to the car, Tate was already planning what he would eat in an hour or for his second dinner.
We discovered evening ocean swims this trip. I think before I had been too scared we'd lose one of them in the twilight or that sharks would mistake them for an evening snack. Evening swims are lovely. We don't have to worry about getting burnt. Hardly anyone is in the ocean. Very relaxing. And very beautiful as we watched the sun set each night and the clouds turn pink. As we floated peacefully, Tate asked, "When does this close?".
"The ocean? It doesn't," I said.
I checked on my neck bite when we got in and it hadn't changed whatsoever. David decided I could be carrying little seahorse babies in it and kept watching for one to crawl out. "Moms don't carry the babies, the Dads do," the kids set him straight.
Monday was Busch Gardens day, just to throw some thrill rides into the mix. But the tropical storms put a damper on the day and we only got a handful of rides in before the rain shut everything down. We headed back early and as David followed the GPS, there was a split in the road on one of his exits. He went to the left when he actually should have gone right. No harm no fowl. I advised him kindly of this and our GPS rerouted us immediately. A few moments later he said, "Hey, I recognize that. This is the way we came this morning."
"Yep," I replied offhandedly.
"So we're good," he went on.
"Yeah, the GPS rerouted us," I explained.
A few minutes later, "But this is how we came this morning. So it all worked out," he said again.
What is happening here? I wondered in my head. Does this man not know how a GPS works?
"Right, because it got us back on track," I said, a little more invested into the conversation at that point.
For some reason, he wouldn't let it go and was trying to prove a point, but was sounding more and more ridiculous. He doesn't get irritated very easily but his next phrase came out like I was the one who didn't know what was going on.
"This is the same way we came this morning," he said slower and a little aggravated, "So it all turned out ok, is all I'm saying."
And I was too tired. Too tired for a rebuttal. So I tried something new for me. I kept quiet and closed my eyes. Dissolving our marriage over this wasn't going to be worth it. And we still had one full day of vacation left together.
As we all floated in the waves, our new happy place, that evening, the subject of the GPS resurfaced. "Yeah, Dad, what was that about? You weren't making any sense!" Drue said. "And, Mom, I looked at you and you didn't even say anything!".
"Me too!" Reese said. "When Mom just quit talking, I thought 'what the heck' and just went to sleep."
I still don't know if David's brain glitched or what. In hindsight, I think maybe he didn't realize the GPS rerouted us and he thought his wrong turn was actually the right turn when we started passing familiar places. Either way, I was just proud of myself after 25 years of marriage for letting it go in the moment and staying quiet. We all had a good laugh about it and I said, "I was literally seething in my seat!".
"You were?" David asked, as he doubled over in the ocean.
"Yes! I thought 'we're finna get divorced over this dang GPS!'".
As relaxing as our time in the ocean was we, in fact, look like the redneckiest redneck family around when we're out there. Tate on his Pabst Blue Ribbon inner tube (don't ask), Drue and I on rafts, David standing out in the sea as our "anchor", holding on to a rope that is tied to Tate's inner tube and that Drue and I also hold onto so we don't float away. Reese usually has the goggles on diving for things. But she's scared to go too far from us so she usually kicks one of us in the face or splashes us all as she resurfaces, and we all yell at her in unison. Prime entertainment for other beach goers, no doubt.
When no sea horses escaped from my neck, I diagnosed myself with a leishmania parasite. "Can cause high fever, weight loss...oh nice, I kinda hope it's that," I announced.
One of the nights (after the O.J. Simpson fiasco) Reese asked, "What was your favorite beach day we've had?". Yep, it was after 9pm. I started reflecting on the days then snapped, "I don't know! I can't pick a favorite! I've enjoyed them all. That stresses me out. Why do we have to pick just one?".
Again, all the laughs. And reminders not to ask Mom anything at night. Ever.
One of my favorite parts of our condo vacations are the nighttimes. We're all clean, fed, and cozied up in the living room watching movies together. "Mom, is this your dream come true?", Tate asked. "Yes, yes it is," I replied contentedly. The night before we visited the Clearwater Aquarium we watched Dolphin Tale which was filmed there. I don't see any notes from that day so there must not have been any marriage ending arguments or kids falling into the turtle tank. It was neat to see though. And made me want to move there and be a marine biologist who rehabs animals. First, I'll need to update my resume and add "expert in Leishmania parasites".
I love, love, love our family vacations. David likes to burst my bubble of happiness each time by saying, "You know, this could be our last one with the five of us." Tell me that after 9pm buster, and you might get a right hook to your jaw. This one was the perfect amount of days. Not too long, not too short. I always start out, "Everything is wonderful and I love spending time with all of you" then end up "MUST YOU YAWN SO LOUDLY?!" near the end. That's when we know it's time. Time to get back to our regular lives and schedules, going out in 5 different directions most days. Catching glimpses of each other leaving for, or coming home from work.
I think I covered all the noteworthy happenings. Now I'm off to read Nicole Brown Simpson's biography, because I still feel guilty for saying she didn't mean anything to me when I was tired. Then after that, I'll come up with another diagnosis for this unsightly red bump on my neck.
Plunging into the post vacation depths of despair will just have to wait for tomorrow.
