Vacation (All I Ever Wanted)

My apologies to the Go-Gos.

So last week was our family vacation. My father-in-law owns a place on the shore of Lake Erie, and every year we go up for a week. This year was probably the best, mostly because the kids are now old enough to truly entertain themselves. It's a little hard to enjoy yourself when you're chasing two rugrats up and down the sand.

Mostly we had a good time. But sometimes, I really do have to wonder what planet The Hubby lives on. For example, we arrived at the beach on Saturday. And the week before we leave, The Hubby says to me, "Oh, my cousin and her kids are coming on Saturday and staying the night." Really? So on the day we arrive, have to unpack, go shopping for the week I also have to entertain guests? And find somewhere for them to sleep in a trailer with only one bedroom? Great. I mean, not that these people are difficult to deal with; they are rather nice actually. But it's the first day of my vacation!

Then he tells me that his cousin's husband and the kids are coming back on Thursday. The day he's going golfing. At least this time I only have to feed them lunch.

Crossing into Canada is not really that easy any more. Well, that's not true - it isn't getting into Canada that's the problem, it's getting back into the US. With apologies to all you Canadians, I grew up next door to Canada. Visiting was more like going to another state than another country. But I digress.

So knowing that they are paying more attention, on Friday he says we're going back to the States to visit yet another cousin. Good grief! Now not only do I have to visit yet more relatives (what is this, the grand tour?) I have to go back into the US. My worst nightmare is now that we will get into the US and not be able to get back.

Turns out, that was the least of my worries. I didn't count on the 45 minutes it would take to get through customs. In a car with no air conditioning. In 85-degree weather. Oh, and did I mention that The Boy gets carsick when he overheats?

By the time we get through customs, I'm trying to coax my son into not puking in the car. And we're all starved; I've only had an English muffin at 9:00 and it's now 12:30. My father-in-law suggest a restaurant right on the canal that serves roast beef on weck (look it up). Lovely, let's go. We get there, and I immediately ask for cold water. The Boy's face looks like curdled milk. I get the water and my father-in-law asks what I want to order. I mention I haven't seen a menu and the bar tender says, "We only serve roast beef and chili." Hmm, I see a trip to Burger King in my very near future. Meanwhile, I'm trying to tempt The Boy with popcorn. No dice. The Hubby says, "He gets about 1 more minute, then he's just making a scene."

Suddenly, "I have to go to the bathroom." Oh god. Sure enough, we get into the bathroom and he starts to gag. And while he retches into the toilet, I start mopping up what didn't make it. Five minutes later, The Girl sticks her head in the bathroom. "Daddy wants to know what's taking so long."

"You're brother is puking."

"I told him so."

Pretty bad when your 7-year old knows more than your spouse. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed when I came back to the table.

In the end, we survived. We even made it back into Canada, and then back into the US on Saturday. Oh, and by the way I know what hell is like now. Hell is being stuck at the US-Canada border for 2 hours, in the sun, when it's 85 degrees out, and your car has no air conditioning.

But next year, I'm not moving from my beach chair.