Being a stay at home mother (that only works at the most one three hour shift a week these days) I'm pretty sure that people think everyday is a vacation for me. I can assure you that it is NOT. I wouldn't say it's particularly hard, but it can be draining on many different levels. I love it when childless friends and family shake their heads yes with concern and say, "Oh yes, yes... I KNOW I know. It is a BIG job - I believe it. No really, I DO." and you know that they don't. Ya, maybe I get to sit down here and there a few times a day not really doing much, but it's on the most ridiculously small bathroom floor coaxing another human to take a shit. Makes for some great conversation while I spill coffee all over my socks for the 2nd time that week while trying to get up.
(Here comes the classic follow up paragraph where I tell you how much I love my life and adore my child.)
Now don't get me wrong. I love my life. Graye is amazing and everyday she surprises me with cuteness that no story, video or picture could ever convey. I am very lucky to have the opportunity to stay by my child's side watching her grow up. That being said, I know my child very well. I have a pretty good idea of how she will react to any given situation. Not being able to have a juice box she just happened to see in the cupboard? - five minutes of the word "juuuuuuice?" accompanied by my skirt being pulled off my body several times. Missing her nap while at the grandparents - an evening of hyper-assed screaming and jumping on the couch. Seeing any kind of real animal? - the sweetest squeals of true delight, unless it's OUR cat, then she screams in horror. A creepy Chinese tourist tickling her foot - pure fear. Sitting on mine or Zol's lap for over 6 hours on an airplane - BOREDOM. If you have any idea what a bored two year old is like, you would then understand my fear of flying anywhere with her.
So. Do we go to Maui in August? I'm not really asking you - as I already know what everyone will say. "OH YES!!!! GO! You haaaaave to! She'll be fiiiiiinnne. You guys need a vacation." Ya I KNOW we do, but the ride there and the ride home frighten me to no end. And not so much the flight but traveling in general with not only my daughter... but my husband. Shall I explain why? Oh why NOT??
Late August 2009. It is a week before we leave for a 12 day trip to stay in the condo my family used as I was a child on the Hawaiian island of Maui. I hadn't been there since I was 5 or 6, but have wonderful memories of our times at the Hona Kai. 
I was so excited when Zol agreed to go there with the big possibility of pissing his parents off as they had a place we could use in Waikiki (hate it). So we have a WEEK before we leave and here is where my husband and I are very different. I have already planned out what I will be packing for both Graye and myself two weeks beforehand. I will pack the day before we leave, ticking things off my list as they go into the suitcase. Packing any sooner causes trouble for me as I can't remember what it is I packed and end up taking something out and not putting it back in. Zol on the other hand packs several days before and is basically flipping out the entire week about things he has forgotten, will forget and what will I do if I forget this because then my whole vacation will be ruined and I'm not going to let that happen because this is costing us a fortune and DAY!?? DAY? Where the hell are all my shorts!? This is ridiculous! I can't find ONE thing I want to take on this trip. SERIOUSLY. NOT ONE SINGLE THING.In my head I'm rolling around on the floor laughing at a scene I have witnessed every time we try to go anywhere out of town. I am no angel when it comes to these 'packing conversations' that we have. I angrily and loudly locate all missing items and then storm out of the room uttering various combination's of swear words. His shorts are always in the dresser drawer that has only SHORTS IN IT and all his t-shirts are in the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. And no you don't need 12 pairs of socks because we are going to be staying on a BEACH ZOL. a BEACH. and you WILL - trust me - you WILL not need them because you will be wearing FLIP-FLOPS BECAUSE WE WILL BE ON A BEACH.
With childlike excitement we both stay up too late that night and wake up way too early the following day. We stumble around in the dark, trying not to wake up Graye as we put last minute things together. A slightly cranky and confused daughter awakens to an argument over whether or not a light should be left on and if so, what one won't explode and burn the house down while we're gone? Zol's dad arrives 30 minutes too early to take us to the airport and opens the door as I'm yelling "JUST GO LOAD THE FUCKING CAR WILL YOU!?!"
Dropped off at the airport and standing at the curb Zol tries to carry/pull everything while asking me for the 10th time that morning if I have our passports and tickets. By now my early breakfast has worn off and my hypoglycemia has kicked in. As far as I'm concerned I am no long responsible for anything that comes out of my "hangry" mouth (hungry anger!).
The Vancouver airport drives me nuts. Pulling out your passport and taking off your shoes fifty million times with a small child is incredibly annoying and tiresome. Graye, almost 12 months old still could not walk and had to be in a stroller that was apparently cramping her style. She wailed as we started to go through security. We loaded everything into the containers for the X-ray, pushed our carry on bags down the rolling belt and waited patiently on the other side for our things to clear. Waiting. Waiting. Told to stand aside for other passengers to pass. They started opening up Zol's bag. The bag that took him almost 5 minutes to close it was so full. After a few minutes I asked what was wrong. "Da nye" "I'm sorry what? Da nye?" "Yezz, Da nye, da nye."
Zol and I looked at each other in confusion. What the HELL was a da nye? 10 minutes passed. The little Philippino security woman had pulled out every single piece of clothing in the suitcase and kept running them through the X-ray. I stood beside her and asked again, "I'm sorry, a da nye?" "YES NYE!" Her hand finally reached into one of Zol's pocket shorts and pulled out a 2 inch small pocket knife. Knife. KNIFE. THE KNIFE. "No WAY! I've been looking for that!" he said. Well he didn't get it back, and after stuffing all of his now unfolded clothing back into the suitcase we were finally on the way to our gate. We laughed it off, bought a bag of chips for me to munch on and waited to board the plane. Board the plane together, as we were seated together... on the plane... in the seats we had chosen that were beside each other on the plane. Seats beside each other. Apparently not.
I smiled sweetly at the woman beside me as Graye started to crank up. Discretely I pulled up my shirt, opened my nursing bra and stuck Graye on my boob. Popping my head up and turning back to look at Zol I gave him a frightened glare. I turned to the woman beside me. "I'd like to apologize in advance for the next 5 hours. I'm hoping she'll take a nap during the flight." She smiled and nodded as she adjusted her seat belt. The next words that nearly fell out of my mouth were "Excuse me, can I get a Vodka and soda with ice?" but alas it was 7am and there was a baby stuck on my boob. To be continued....
