Part Two - My So-Called Vacation (by Reality Mom)
Reality Mom (a.k.a. author Corbin Lewars) shares memories of her "so-called vacation" in Hawaii. Click here to read Part One. ~ Elizabeth
To read more from Corbin, visit Reality Mom.
Once we made it to the condo, with Odo screaming for a large portion of the drive there, I took the kids to the beach while Jason scoured for food. I tried to relax and be grateful that we were finally here, but instead I felt depressed. I lived in Kauai about fifteen years ago and I remember always feeling relaxed and rejuvenated as soon as the plane landed at the airport. One whiff of the ever present plumeria and I would smile and say, “It feels so good to be here.” I kept waiting for that to happen, but instead I found myself fighting back tears. And they weren’t tears of joy.
It was raining and cool outside, but I told myself that could change any moment. The condo was dark and dank, complete with blue shag carpet, worn, rough furniture, and dark wood paneling. It felt reminiscent of an awful seventies apartments I had rented while a student, not like a tropical home away from home. I told myself it didn’t matter because we would be spending most of our time outdoors. But when Jason returned with dinner, he found me in the bathtub with both kids crying. He asked what was wrong and I replied, “This condo is a dump. The kids are about to lose it, I am exhausted, and my head is killing me. I thought it would feel so good to be here, but instead I just feel sad and disappointed.” Jason told me we all had our hard times throughout the day and that it was my turn to lose it. He reassured me that every thing would seem better in the morning.
I did feel better in the morning, but the condo didn’t seem any brighter. In fact, it seemed darker and danker once it was light outside. As soon as the kids woke up, at the ungodly hour of six thirty, thanks to the cacophony of birds and bullfrogs outside our condo, I called the receptionist where we checked in. I politely inquired about a different condo and she said she would get back to me later in the afternoon. We ate breakfast and headed to the beach. Just as we lathered the kids up with sun block and spread all of our provisions out on towels, Odo started to rub her eyes and whimper. “Huh,” I thought, “What do I do with her now?” She was in obvious need of a nap, yet the only place I could lay her down was on the ground, where she would alternately be rained on and blinded by the sun. I couldn’t find any shade, nor could I think of a solution to the problem, so I walked her back to the condo.
When she woke up, I met Jason and Little Dude at the pool where they were eating lunch. The vacation was definitely taking an upswing. The receptionist had offered us a different condo, which felt brighter and cheerier, the sun had come out, and my parents were going to arrive any minute. I figured the doom and gloom was behind us and felt confident that with the sun shining and the adults outnumbering the kids two to one, we were going to enjoy our vacation.
I looked around the pool and felt comforted by the other exhausted, pale, sort of tense, but trying to relax parents playing with their kids. I was in my twenties when I lived in Kauai and I used to laugh at all of these tourists with their glow in the dark skin and endless supply of gear. I constantly tried to prove my “localness” by separating myself from “Howlies,” especially, pale, flabby, tourists. But now I was a pale, flabby tourist and it felt nice being amongst my people. When I waved to Little Dude sliding down the slide and noticed my under arm fat waving back at me, I didn’t mind. When I looked down at my legs and was nearly blinded by their whiteness, I didn’t mind. I may be fat, pale, and exhausted, but at least I was among people who understood.
To read more from Corbin Lewars, visit Reality Mom.
Read Part Three tomorrow on the A Wild Ride Blog.
Photo © Graça Victoria
