The Vacation
“Family vacation” is an oxymoron. Transporting a four and a six-year-old to a different country is like climbing a greased telephone pole. And even if you get a few moments of relaxation when you’re there, it is sure to be cancelled out by the process of getting them home.
Some days, though, are just weird enough to make it all worth it.
The day started out like any vacation day. We woke up on the beautiful island of Aruba, and ate breakfast at the buffet.
“I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow,” my wife Lauren laments. “Make sure you confirm the flight.”
“I have it under control.”
“Just like your eating … Brett, you don’t need bacon in your omelet.”
“I don’t enjoy life enough to not eat bacon.”
“Can you at least go to the gym today?”
“You know I get sick when I work out.”
“Why am I married to my grandfather?”
“You’re married to your grandfather? That makes our marriage void. I’m going to find an Arubian wife tonight.”
“She’s going to love your stomach … I’m not attracted to you. Does that bother you?”
“Not really … is that wrong?”
“Brett, it’s not funny.”
“I’m on vacation. Can I enjoy myself a little?”
“You don’t enjoy being on vacation with me?”
I smile. “Of course I do, honey.”
Our love declared (and this overheard conversation coming up in both our kids’ therapy in twenty years), we then go to the beach and find our palapa (hut) that is too far back from the water because I am too lazy to get up at 6 A.M. to reserve a prime one.
We spend the next few hours doing the following:
1. Building sand castles.
“Let’s dig for China,” my four-year-old son, Matt, suggests.1 <——-click on these boxes for my terrible jokes.
2. Reapplying sunblock 861 times until they look like Casper the Friendly Ghost.2
3. Going in the lazy river.
On the first day, my six-year-old daughter, Liz, saw other kids with floats and asked me to buy one, and of course I said yes because I am terrified of her; though it is vacation and teaching her proper perspective is not likely to occur at a resort in Aruba anyway, so what the hell.
The problem is we purchased a flamingo float, which looked small enough in the box, but turned out to be the size of an SUV. So I was stuck lugging this thing back and forth from the room every day. I could have left it on the beach, but the Aruban constitution specifically addresses ownership of lazy river floats: “He who leaves his float for more than 11 seconds loses all rights to that float.”
The lazy river is awesome. On all sides are mountainous rocks with wildlife, including giant iguanas that blend into the scenery.
Lunchtime
I took my daily walk down the beach to Eduardo’s Beach Shack. Now they could be serving prison food and I would still take that walk as my chance to get away from the kids for thirty minutes.3
Eduardo’s is actually a hot spot. Lines form at 10 A.M. and run all day until they run out of food. Some days I can’t get there until later and I am shut out. They literally tell the 30 people on line to come back tomorrow. This infuriates me. It goes against every capitalist bone in my body. They know it’s going to be busy this time of year, but don’t care and don’t adjust accordingly. It’s also why they’re significantly healthier than I am and don’t need Prozac.
Today, I am going with the Poke Tuna Bowl over the Acai or Pitaya Bowl.4
Hotel Arts and Crafts Center
Lauren got the kids out of the sun for a bit. She shows me an already drawn picture that Liz colored in.
“Isn’t it amazing?”
I look around to make sure Liz isn’t within earshot. “Not really.”
“You don’t think she colors well?”
“Lauren, it’s coloring. Yes, she’s a great colorer. I’m just not sure the level of difficulty in coloring merits the word ‘Amazing.’”
“I actually dislike you as a person.”
We then repeat Steps 1 through 3 – dig for East Asia, Casper the Ghost again (I looked, there’s no new ghosts), and take our yacht-size flamingo raft for another spin.
Sunset
Everyone who stays at the beach past five o’clock, which includes parents with small children, and all people with a significant drinking problem, moves their chairs down to the water.
“Daddy, that man has a smoke stick in his mouth.”
“Yes, he’s a bad man. Anyone who smokes a stick is mean.”
Sunsets in Aruba are incredible and we take photos, counting the dwindling days until we will be back in the cold. Three or four times a vacation, we question why we can’t be one of the free people who move to an island like this and live like the people working in Eduardo’s Shack.
Dinner
First, we shower, a necessary step, as Matt always manages to get half the sand in the beach stuck in his butt-crack.
We head to a restaurant. The kids are exhausted by this point and often pass out during dinner, giving us a few quiet minutes. Lauren then engages in a cat-and-mouse game with the waiters that only she is playing, in which she asks them for something like a lemon for her water, and then waits until they return to the table to ask for a straw (and then waits until they return to ask for an extra glass)5
“I can’t believe how many times you’ve gone in the water this vacation,” Lauren says.
“Did you just complement me?”
“You’re usually more of an indoor Dad.”
“There it is. I love you too, honey.”
Matt has been unconscious since appetizers. Liz, though, is still going strong as dessert arrives.
“Daddy, when we get back, can I go in the hot tub?”
I look at Lauren, as I do in all circumstances that require an adult’s opinion.
“Well, honey,” Lauren says, “It’s the last night, so why not?”6
Hotel Hot Tub – 11:00 P.M.
Liz and I sit in the hot tub, beautifully illuminated by fluorescent lights. The hot tub is big and there’s a young Venezuelan couple sitting at the other end. They look thrilled to be sharing this moment with me and my six-year-old; though I don’t feel too bad for them since the man is smoking a cigar that I’d like him to choke on.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yes Daddy. It’s so hot in here.”
I sit back and relax. It doesn’t get better than this.
Just then, the Venezuelan woman starts screaming, followed by loud yelling in Spanish. This must be how El Chapo feels.
Then Liz starts screaming. I look down and there is a giant iguana in the hot tub with us.
The iguana is swimming towards the Venezuelan couple and the man begins swinging his cigar at it.
I have two rules in life I’ve always abided by:
1. Never go to bed angry, and
2. When a Venezuelan man attacks an iguana in a hot tub with a cigar, it’s time to get out of the hot tub
We quickly exit to avoid the iguana’s wrath.
Bedtime
Liz is recalling the story to Lauren, though she has portrayed the iguana as actual Godzilla rising from beneath the water.
“And tell Mommy why the iguana jumped in,” I say to Liz.
“Because the man was swimming with a smoke stick.”
Lauren rolls her eyes, “Brett, did you check on the flight?”
I try to check-in on my phone. It’s not working. I call up the airline. They inform me that our itinerary does take us back to New York, but it’s not our final destination.
Lauren yells at me for being cheap and booking the flight through a third-party vendor (who didn’t inform me of our final destination).
“At least the layover is in South Korea,” I say.
“We can just get off in New York though.”
“But our bags will go to India … that’s right near China. Matt wanted to dig for China.”
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Some people are into group sex (I’m looking at you Grandma!) I’m into group texts. If you read my new book, and it didn’t suck, it would be awesome if you would copy and paste: http://a.co/gDZh9zv
into a group text with your friends (it will take them right to a free preview).
This shit’s not gonna spread by osmosis people.
If you haven’t ordered a book yet, click the Amazon Button below and you can preview it. Even better, check out the reviews (only four of them are by me under assumed names.)7
