Our annual family beach vacation has come and gone. The bathing suits are dry, the suitcases are unpacked and most of the sand has been vacuumed up. And yes, the people all survived. No one came away unscathed, but there was no actual death, so yay for us!
While I was in Barcelona with my mother and sister, my family was prepping for the beach. I packed the car before I went to the airport and additionally left a very detailed list for the husband. While he was mostly ignoring the list, we were hanging out in a Spanish emergency room. The international representative was a lovely gentleman and in case you were wondering, single-payer healthcare does not apply to American tourists.
But, even the bruised and battered can’t be guaranteed an earlier flight home, so the last few days in Spain were fairly quiet. It turned out to be a lovely time to slowly meander through the historic streets of El Born. And when we finally did embark on our journey back to the States, we got an extra seat on the plane. So there was that.
A lot tired and a little overwhelmed, we made a brief stop at the house to retrieve the multiple forgotten items and headed to the beach. There was much joy and excitement when we arrived. As a matter of fact, there was so much joy and excitement that my overjoyed puppy couldn’t figure out what to do with all of his exuberance. In the end, he seemed to think that grabbing hold of my leg, with his teeth, was an excellent way to express his love.
My oldest child expressed his joy with a warm welcome hug and greeting, “It’s great to have you back because I’m wearing the last of my clean underwear.”
My niece, a very health-conscious young woman, expressed her joy by begging us to not feed them anymore sausage. “That’s all we’ve had. Every night. Grilled sausage. Can we please not eat that again? All dad bought at the supermarket was seven packs of English muffins and sausage.”
My father quickly came to the defense of his son-in-law, “No, there was also pizza. We may have burned it a little on the grill, but it wasn’t too bad.”
My sister and I were functioning on about 11 minutes of sleep in 23 hours, so after the welcome party finished with us, I reached into the basket o’ take out menus and spread them out like a map, “Pick something. There will be no sausage tonight.”
While the masses assembled to peruse their options, I tried to rest my head on the counter, only to find that the entire thing was covered in a light layer of sand. I don’t know about you, but there is something so very revolting about sand in anyplace that I intend to have food. I would rather eat haggis than feel the crunch of sand between my teeth. I would also rather drink. And so it began.
Cold beer in one hand, spray bottle in the other, I proceeded to shoo away all the people, clear off the 15 feet of counter and 12-person dining table, and wipe away all the sand. Then, I went back to my room to put down my suitcase and change my clothes. And that’s where I found that my son was, in fact, telling the truth about his lack of clean clothing. Piled about two and a half feet high, behind the bedroom door, was all of his and the husband’s dirty laundry, including wet towels.
Being that I was sleep-deprived and somewhat off-kilter from a less-than-perfect trip abroad, I may have been a little short-tempered. Or, more accurately, a little more short-tempered than usual. But really, would not any sane human get a wee bit peeved over a stack of filthy, sandy, wet laundry piled up on the floor? I may have made a few suggestions to my husband as to how he could better handle this in the future. Or, I may have spewed fire into his slovenly face. At the end of the day, the results were the same.
I spent the next several hours doing laundry, cleaning and giving the children a lesson on how to find non-sausage items in the house, “On this shelf is the tikka masala and naan I picked up for you. Over here in the freezer is the chicken, kale and quinoa burgers. And did anyone even take the trail mix out of the car? Anyone?”
Nothing. I felt like it was roll call and Ferris Bueller was out sick.
A good night’s sleep had me back to myself the next day. That would normally be a good thing, but myself hates the beach. Luckily, everyone knows this so I was not required to make a beach appearance for another day. And what a day it was. Before we left, I posted on facebook, “Some people suffer from seasonal affective disorder, or SAD. I suffer from humidity always taints everything, or HATE.”
Before we even made it out of the parking lot, one of my son’s brackets popped off his tooth, releasing the entire wire. Having never had braces, I wondered, “How bad could it really be?”
“It feels like all of my teeth are about to fall out!”
OK, that sounds bad. Emergency orthodontic appointments are on everyone’s vacation list, right? It was a super-fun time. And it was extra good that we made it back to the teenagers whom we were forced to leave at the beach with the paddle boards before the lightning, thunder and torrential rain started.
I took the next day off from the beach. Our love-hate relationship was feeling really one sided. There was definitely no love in any of it. But, it was a beach vacation, after all. And I finally just took a deep breath and let it go. I climbed on a paddle board and ventured out into the water, where I searched for some peace.
And I maybe would have found some peace if I hadn’t noticed my son being carried away with the current. Or heard my father’s call for a parent on land, due to the gushing, bloody, open wound on my ballerina daughter’s foot.
At a certain point, it’s time to say, “OK vacation, I hear you. I hear you, you witchy, whiny, nasty, drama queen. I’m done with you, too. Why don’t you kiss my sunburnt arse and shove off?”
I repacked the car. I put clean sheets on all the beds. I washed all the dishes and wiped down all the bathrooms. I carried my wounded baby to the car, let the best behaved dog ride shotgun, locked the door and got behind the wheel.
Until we meet again b!$ch, I mean, beach.
If your small child starts to gush blood, a tourniquet can be helpful. We started with a few cups full of saltwater poured over the cut, but that’s not in the Google search. They offer these tips for stopping blood loss:
To stop the blood loss, follow these steps:
Step 1: Make sure your surroundings are safe, and keep yourself safe by wearing gloves.
Step 2: Expose the open wound.
Step 3: Apply firm, direct pressure to the wound site.
Step 4: Choose a tourniquet.
Step 5: Apply the tourniquet.
Step 6: Assess for shock.
Happy summer!
