Every winter, as the holidays fade into gray, I find myself daydreaming about the idyllic Beach Vacation in My Head. In this fantasy, I envision myself lounging for hours with a good book while my skin takes on a beautiful golden hue. I imagine serene runs along the shoreline and delightful meals with my partner at quaint seaside cafés, sipping on fruity cocktails. My hair looks effortlessly glamorous, and rain is a distant memory.
My kids? They’re off in the distance, totally engrossed in studying marine life or flying kites, undoubtedly dressed in breezy linen outfits.
Then there’s the stark contrast of Beach Vacation in Reality: “NO, throwing sand at your brother is not a new game! DID YOU JUST SPRAY SUNSCREEN IN HIS FACE? WHAT ON EARTH?”
In this version, my attempts to read are constantly interrupted. My younger son, who’s 10, sidles up to my lounge chair the moment I crack open my book. “Mom, are you done reading yet? When will you be finished? Are you done now? How long is that book? It looks long—maybe 300 pages? You don’t seem to be reading; you look like you’re finished. So, what should we do now?”
Every day demands three meals from everyone—a harsh reality I manage to dodge most of the year while I’m at work. I find myself doing more grocery shopping during Beach Vacation in Reality than at any other point in the year. And oddly enough, I completely forget about this grocery shopping part during my dreamy Beach Vacation in My Head.
Each afternoon, we retreat indoors as summer storms roll in, only to find that my children have turned the living space into a sand-and-water wonderland. My hair transforms into a wild, frizzy mess, and five days in, my skin is a canvas of red bumps from sand, salt, sunscreen, razor burn, and bug bites. The condo? It’s a chaotic display of wet towels and mismatched flip-flops. Seriously, why are there so many left shoes?
By Thursday, I’m usually contemplating an early getaway. “I could just rent a car and head home for some peace and quiet. That’s normal, right?” My friend texts me every year, “It’s Thursday of beach week. Ready to come home?”
Let’s not forget about packing. In my fantasy, I simply toss everything into a small bag—a bikini, flip-flops, running shoes, shorts, T-shirts, and toothbrush—and off I go.
In reality, I begin to say “Let’s go,” but then remember we need to attach the enormous roof box for all the golf clubs and beach gear, not to mention the five coolers and tech gadgets. Yes, we are those families.
Upon arrival, there’s unpacking, followed by repacking when it’s time to leave. We always end up more exhausted after Beach Vacation in Reality than when we first set out, needing gallons of aloe to soothe my irritated skin, and my keratin treatment is completely ruined.
My mother assures me I’ll one day miss this chaos, but I’m wise to her tricks in her endless quest for grandchildren. “I see you, Mom. I’m onto you!”
“Can’t wait for our week at the beach!” my oldest son, now 15, recently exclaimed as we prepare for our 11th consecutive year at the same spot. “It’s the best week of the year.”
“I know,” I replied, wrapping my arm around his gangly frame. “It really is the best, isn’t it?”
Absolutely, it is! Because in my mind, it’s still the Beach Vacation I crave, and there’s no rush to dive into the real one until absolutely necessary. For more on navigating parenthood and perhaps starting your own family journey, check out this at-home insemination kit. Also, if you’re curious about fertility treatments, this resource is excellent. For insights on how cancer treatments may impact fertility, visit this link.
In summary, the dream of a perfect beach vacation often clashes with the chaotic reality of family life. While the fantasy is serene and effortless, the actual experience is filled with challenges and interruptions. Yet, it’s these moments that create lasting memories, even if they come with a side of sand and a dash of sunscreen.