Or at least, that’s how it feels.
We did finally settle on one thing that has been plaguing us for about two years now. And to lift the shroud of secrecy under which the Decisions Series posts have been written, I’ll let you know exactly what we decided.
We’re taking a family vacation! To a tropical destination, nonetheless.
This is something we have hemmed and hawed about ever since our daughter was born. We so very much want to take her (and now my son, too) to a beach resort where we can lounge about while they play in the sand. But the timing was never right. The money was never there. Then the money was there, but there were other things that we felt were more important to spend it on at the time.
And then we had baby #2. Then my husband started his own business. Then there wasn’t enough time or money to take a vacation. Then then then…
It goes on. As I’m sure it does for you.
And every year, we’d head up to the cottage for extended weekends or half weeks and spend almost as much money as we would have spent on a tropical vacation where we wouldn’t have to cook or clean or (really) entertain the kids.
And so, after years of hemming and hawing, we did it. We booked a trip to Cuba. We’re going on a real vacation. A vacation where Mommy doesn’t have to cook and Daddy doesn’t have to keep the kids out of Mommy’s way while she cooks.
We are going away with the idea in mind that this is going to be a vacation from nit picking and constantly reminding and persuading and cajoling the kids to eat or clean up or behave.
The restaurants at the resort are open for extended meal hours and there is a 24 hour snack and drink bar. So, whenever my kids want to eat, they can. And I won’t have to prepare the food or convince them they have to eat every last bite.
Since I’m getting a vacation from cooking and serving them their food, no effort will feel wasted on my part. They’ll get a vacation from my nagging. (Because let’s face it, the Nag comes out at meal times.)
Now, the only thing left to do (besides pack) is potty train the boy. (I’m not that keen on lugging a suitcase of diapers to Cuba with me. )