Should I feel bad that I might be the only mom on my FB feed that hasn’t dyed hard-boiled eggs, stuffed plastic ones full of prizes, or taken a picture of my kids with the Easter Bunny? Cause I kinda feel bad but I kinda don’t. It’s kinda like that hashtag #sorrynotsorry. Except it’s more #tootiredtobesorry.
Since last week was Spring Break, the family and I traveled to Cabarete. an active beach goer’s paradise. Wavy beach, laid-back town, kite-surfing capital and lots or nothing to do… your choice. In our perfect life we would have had two cars to get us there, but since we are talking about our imperfect life, I should mention that in order to save our somehow always dwindling money we didn’t rent a second car. Instead we crammed in to our SpaceWagon – yes that is her actual name and it is as glorious as she is – 4 grown ass adults, 2 babies complete with car seats, 2 dogs, 2 pack and plays, and the baggage that accompanies that many people. And that’s why the SpaceWagon is awesome. We all fit.
Our first evening of vacation started with Rafa waking up every hour or so needing to be put back to sleep. This kid is a monstrous sleeper so when she woke up saying, “Gripe ~ cold.” I knew we were in trouble. I don’t remember a night – inclduing her newborn months – that she slept this miserably or that I did. It was one of those nights that only a mother could understand. Tired, rundown, wanting to be held and that was just me. Poor Rafa couldn’t get comfortable either.
And this was the first night of our vacation.
I shouldn’t say it like that because really any beach vacation as imperfect as it could be will always be – in its own way – perfection, unless there’s a tsunami. There was lots to enjoy like our perfect breakfasts at Cabarete Coffee Company or our scrumptious shrimp dinner at Papi’s in their special curry sauce, or the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous day we spent with the family of one of Husband’s student’s. It is one of my favorite things about living here – this idea that business and pleasure are so interjoined. In the states, I would never dream of accepting an invite from parents to visit their beach house. Here it would be considered rude not to. And somewhere between the fresh ceviche they made us and the gin and tonic that Dad concocted for me with his tailored gin bar of citrus and rose-infused gins and the third bottle of champagne we uncorked I thought, Gosh… this is pretty good for an imperfect life. 😉
The car ride home – 4 hours on a Dominican highway – as new as it is – always reminds me of why I don’t like traveling on this island. It’s long. And boring. There are no rest stops with promises of Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or even Carl’s Coffee (whoever Carl is) So for 4 hours I sat in the third row of our glorious SpaceWagon edged between a suitcase and one dog waiting fruitlessly to be transported back home. And by the time we got back home Saturday evening, I was done. Done with vacation. Done with packing and unpacking. Done with sleeping in a bed with sheets that made more sound than thunder. Done with Rafa’s cold and the stomach bug that my father got, that then my mother got which was the reason I gave up my bed that night and slept in a recliner. D-o-n-e. Hashtag that. #done.
At 5am, when I had to get up to drive my parents to the airport, I felt more dead than alive. Even the streets matched my outlook. The sky was still dark, the streets were quiet. Not a soul on the road and the sadness of taking my parents to a place that would fly them away from me. Major imperfection to this life.
By 7 am Easter morning, I had no room for a bunny and it’s eggs. You know what I had room for? My couch. And I felt a little crappy about that. Shouldn’t I be hiding pastel-colored eggs and posting adorable bunny-eared pictures of my kids dressed up in beautiful Easter gowns? Cut yourself a break, I reminded myself. I do Christmas BIG and birthdays BIG and right about now that’s all the BIG I could muster. Does it all have to be BIG? And the truth is it doesn’t which is why I started down this Road to an Imperfect Life because looking at everyone’s newsfeed of their Eastery-ness made me feel small and bad mom-like. So I’m giving myself a break this time, a pass, a passover (I couldn’t help it. That joke was there for the taking, half Jewish Husband.)
Sometimes you have say, “Hop along, Easter Bunny. I have date with my couch.” #sorrynotsorry. Maybe next year. Or maybe not.
Photos: gin drink
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