From my notebook: Wednesday, September 26, 2012.
Two more days and we go home. The kids, hubby and I are all fantasizing about home; about the food we’ll eat, the friends we’ll see, the showers we’ll take.
Hubby and I both admitted to feeling trapped yesterday. We can’t do anything to make our kids happy. All they want is to go home. And yet, we’re stuck here.
Do they feel this way because we have behaved poorly as parents? Should we have maintained a happy façade regardless?
It doesn’t matter now. It’s almost over. I’m looking forward to the rush-rush of our lives. Life is too slow here. I was even bored sleeping last night. I kept waking up and wondering how much longer I had to sleep because I needed to be doing something other than sleeping. But then I remembered that, once the sun does come up, there’s not much to do anyway.
It occurred to me that when hubby and I came to Cuba seven years ago, we were used to a relaxed lifestyle. We napped most Sundays. We only had ourselves to worry about. So much has changed since then. There are four of us now. Four schedules, constant go-go-go. We don’t nap anymore. And as much as we think we want a break, more than a day or two of relaxing is too much.
As I sit on the balcony of our room, hubby resting inside while Big Sister plays with the few toys she brought and Little Brother plays with his cars on the balcony at my feet, I think that this is a nice family vacation. We are relaxed (finally). We are happy. As much of an illusion as it may seem, we are happy at this moment.