A while back I had posted about vacationing with the kids, which generated some controversy.
I was planning on, for my next post, writing about the wisdom of travelling with my husband, as a way of lightening things up again and also venting a bit.
But then I thought, No. I've got to stop complaining about my husband so much. Really, I should be more appreciative of him.
Actually, just kidding. I didn't think that. I think I just forgot about it. But now I remembered it.
So. The wisdom of travelling with your husband:
"Do you think we should bring a stroller for Alex, just in case?", I asked Geoff about a month prior to our departure date, thinking of all the hours we would be spending in the airport.
"No," Geoff replied, sounding annoyed and, for some reason, almost insulted. Like as though I had asked him, "do you think we should pack some adult diapers for you, just in case."
"It's just that it might be a lot of walking," I tried to rationalize.
"Alex can walk," he countered, again almost insulted sounding.
"Well, yeah, but not very fast," I said.
"Well we can carry him," he said.
I dropped the matter. It was only just a thought, anyways, but I did remember distinctly when I took Lex to Calgary wishing that I had a stroller with me for the airports. You wouldn't think that carrying a twenty pound baby could get so taxing, but really it can be.
Flash forward to a month later at Pearson airport, me with Alex on my hip and his diaper bag slung over my shoulder, walking back and forth as we try to find out which terminal exactly our shuttle is picking us up at. Supposedly it's A20 or something and we are way over by B5. Geoff, conventiently, is outside smoking.
Things are no better at the Cancun airport. A huge line for security snakes around an a definitively un-air conditioned room. Geoff is wearing a heavy sweat shirt with a pair of Khakis. I tried to convince him to wear something lighter when we left Toronto, but again he seems almost insulted for some reason. "Well, I'll change as soon as we leave the airport."
But leaving the airport is easier said than done. The line moves slowly. The kids are hot, hungry, tired. The heat and humidity are stifling, and carrying Alex along is definitely not helping the situation.
Finally after about an hour we get out of the security line up. We feel relieved.
Until we see another line up for the baggage claim area.
Anyways, I can tell you. The stroller was not a bad idea.
And then, so okay. We're on vacation. Sitting by the pool and having fun, but it's getting to be mid afternoon and Alex is now tired and cranky. It's Geoff's turn to bring him to the room and get him down for his nap. I tell him that's it's time. "Okay, I just have to get a plate of chicken wings," he says. "But Alex is way tired," I urge. "Well, I haven't eaten lunch yet," he says, sauntering over to the snack shack which is, incidentally, crazy lined up.
Alex is crying, clinging onto me, rubbing his eyes.
"Fine," I say. "I'll bring him up and get him settled."
"Okay. I'll meet you up there in a bit."
So I carry Alex to the Elevators, a fair jaunt, by the way, up to the room, change him out of his swim gear. It takes a while to get him settled. By the time Geoff comes up, Alex is already fast asleep. So he takes his beer and book and sits out on the deck.
"There, you can have a break," he says, spelling me off, as though I should be grateful to him, him who's done nothing, NOTHING, except eat a bucket of deep fried chicken wings and, apparently, got a mug of draft from somewhere. Not to even mention the fact that my so called 'break' includes looking after the older two kids as well while he leisurely sits out on the deck and reads a book overlooking the ocean. And then later he puts it like "I gave Alex his nap today so Randine could get a break."
And my stomach problems get more than casually mentioned far too many times. Every time I order a cream drink, or even think about it, or even pause for a moment to consider what kind of drink to order, he cautions me, and everyone else within ear shot that with my stomach being the way it is I'll be "pissing out my ass" if I order anything with cream in it.
Thanks a lot, I say, for putting it so delicately.
"It's pretty much like Ex Lax for her," he tells people. "She had a paralyzer on the way up and she was on the crapper ALL NIGHT."
It's like, have you ever heard of TMI. I'm pretty sure that the nice couple from Tuscon trying to have a relaxing holiday don't need to hear about my irritable bowels.
Anyways, my point is that travelling with your kids is nothing compared to travelling with your husband.