From my journal: Thursday, September 27, 2012.
When we thought our vacation couldn’t get any worse, Big Sister wet the bed. Poor thing. She went to bed traumatized by the shower. (It was, by her standards, unclean. In fact, it was really clean. It just wasn’t her own shower at home.)
Shortly after we fell asleep, Big Sister and Mommy in the same bed, I felt her sit up. I tried to talk to her; to ask her what was wrong. She was unresponsive. Then I asked her if she had to go to the bathroom. The slight nod of her head in the darkness was all I needed to spring into action. But I was too late. She had already wet the bed, herself and me. Off to the dreaded shower we went, the poor girl crying and screaming the entire time.
At last we were clean and dry. Time to get back in bed.
But the first night in our room, Little Brother had a little accident in the bed that Big Sister and I had just been sleeping in, so we had removed the plastic mattress cover. Which meant that, on this night, following Big Sister’s accident, we had a wet mattress. And at midnight in a Cuban resort, you’re not getting fresh sheets or a mattress cover. So Big Sister and I crammed ourselves, along with Daddy and Little Brother, into what this resort calls a 3/4 bed—not quite a standard double, but slightly bigger than a single.
Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for us all. I remained productive throughout, writing countless scathing letters of complaint to the resort in my head and several blog posts about the lessons I learned while vacationing with my young children in a foreign, tropical land.
So, today, our last day and night, we are sitting by the pool and “relaxing” in the semi sun. Which is a blessing because everyone except Little Brother is burnt. Big Sister is drawing in the shade and occasionally playing with a baby who is nearby. Little Brother has finally found a middle ground with a little boy about his age with whom he has been fighting over toys and floaties all week. Chris and I have resigned ourselves to boredom and cautious trepidation over the next temper tantrum.
It has been an expensive lesson, this trip. Years from now, I hope we look back at the pictures of our Cuba vacation and remember only the good times, because there were some. But right now, all I take away from this trip is a profound desire to keep my feet and my family firmly on Canadian soil, with, perhaps, the odd short trip to the U.S., but never far from the border.