So I think I was somewhere around birthdays in my thirties in this convoluted way I want to tell you about my vacation.
Birthdays became a thing I did with my immediate family, husband and kids, Earls, and more often than not my parents and sometimes my brother. And this was fine, no, more than fine. That's all I need.
My close and oldest friends would celebrate each of our five birthdays throughout the year, surmising (rightfully) that we needed to mark the occasion, if not the exact day, by getting together for a meal. Always nice. And over the years the annoyance that was there because of the date, made so clear occasionally by so sorrys and too busys and we can celebrate laters became less so, people became more considerate, and it was appreciated.
But this year was different. This year, it was a milestone. The last milestone was my 30th, which I thought would be fun to have a few friends over. I planned it for December 22, thinking so often people will go to a Christmas party or what have you, so perhaps they would want to celebrate my day. I baked a ham, I bought buns. I made food upon food and made the house pretty. One friend came, along with a couple of my husband's friends and their wives. One friend.
So given that, I was a little gun shy to mark the 40th. And also my social circle has grown large and vine-like, where it becomes difficult to roll around in the middle. It's like either invite a very small few or a very large number. I wasn't cool with huge, and I wasn't sure about small, so I hemmed and hawed. Husband asked, would you like to go on a trip? He says now he was thinking something like New York and the two of us, but I jumped and said a family trip! Turks and Caicos. We spend so little time together and that place is so magical I saw it all. Two weeks, leisure, sunshine, and what better way to celebrate.
Well. Let me tell you. There were better ways it could've been celebrated.
First, he didn't stop working on the overnight in Toronto. Meaning, we checked in at around midnight and fed the kids and went to bed. Except he didn't go to bed. He kept working, with the light on, at the desk about five feet away. I have trouble sleeping with any light at all, and this was very, very bright. Also I have trouble sleeping in hotels. And then I could feel my throat getting sore. All I could do was lie there thinking shut the fucking light off shut the fucking light off I had better not be getting a cold the fucking light is too bright my throat my throat.
This was not a good start.
We arrived, went to the condo, had appys and drinks on the beach. Magic. That place is magic, I swear. And then he got out his computer and started working again. And then he said I don't feel well. This is my husband, who really doesn't do anything at less than 100 percent. Including getting sick. So in between him working and being sick, I spent the first couple of days with the kids. Now, I too was sick, but I had a super bad cold. The kind with a cough where you sound like a foghorn, and people actually step back when you start coughing, sounding like if you just tried a littttttle harder a piece of lung might surface. So I wasn't sleeping. When I get a bad cold, a really bad one, it tends to settle in my chest and if that happens I typically can't shake it for a couple of months.
Off to the doctor I went, feeling that underlying feeling of WHAT A WASTE OF TIME I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M THIS SICK ON MY HOLIDAY. And walking back and forth to the doc in the blazing sun, sun which when you are lying on the beach is so fantastic, when you're coughing your head off toughing it out and walking instead of taking a taxi because that would be lazy, well, then the sun ain't so welcome.
Doctor gave all sorts of goodies, including a couple of inhalers. But I mean really, it's a cold and it's shitty but it's really just a bad, bad cold.
I'm not sleeping, or if I am it's in fits and starts not in my hugmongous king size bed that is the comfiest bed I've ever slept in, in air conditioned bliss. No, I'm sleeping in the living room on the pull out couch that I pull out and make up in the middle of the night so I can stack up five pillows and sleep sitting up, grandma style. I think what I'm getting at here is that I perhaps wasn't at my best. Perhaps I was feeling shitty, perhaps I was worn out. Perhaps the coughing was taking a lot out of me. Perhaps me being under the weather plus trying to be solitary fun parent while daddy laid in bed all day with stomach bug was hard on me. Perhaps I always try to make the best of it, and perhaps it was too much. Perhaps.
And then the kids started getting sick too. [*This is why a two week holiday is imperative - nearly everyone can get pretty sick and recover so that everyone still has days they feel well]. So they would throw up in the middle of the night, or maybe fall asleep on a beach chair at the bonfire and beach BBQ you paid $250 for even though they didn't charge you for the kids. Yeah, that much. And then child would be carried home, sleeping, and throw up all night long. And the hotel across the way with the amazing beach patio and the gorgeous food and the just perfectly divineness of experience was so nice, making chicken noodle soup to carry back, from scratch, but maybe that took something out of me, the sourcing and carrying and caregiving of it all.
And maybe the idea of the penthouse was super fun, and the penthouse itself was super fun, and the massive double patio with the beautiful dining table
[epiphany just happened here, just saying]
And then your husband says let's go look at the potcakes. And if this life were a movie, if it was being watched on a screen, either big or small, the music would change at that moment. Or maybe the camera would slow down, and put emphasis on the moment. For sure the moment would be in all the previews. Maybe that phrase, somehow, would be included in the trailer.
"Let's go look at the potcakes," he said.