The Family "Vacation" - Part III

After I was not able to survive another night sharing a suite with my own children*, we headed home after Sea World.

*I do realize that there are, of course, people all over the world who fit 32 people in a suite the size that we had. And in that square footage they manage a kitchen and no indoor plumbing and further manage to continue to reproduce so that in 10 months there are 42 people in a suite the size we had. But, yo, I am in America and I believe in charitable giving to improve the quality of life in said 42 person space so let's just move on shall we.*

So, anyhow, we decided after spending $54 at the WAP on a inedible lunch that J and I ate because we were hungry and that the children did not at all, we were NOT going to eat lunch at Sea World. I had enough snacks to feed the entire Sea World population that day so we figured - large breakfast, lots of snacks, early dinner. We expected everyone to sleep on the way home as it was a two hour drive and I woke everyone up about 15 minutes before reaching our dinner destination to aid in the transition of sleep to wake.

Let me just say, I am the mother that I would have balked at 3 years ago. I am that mother. I have never, in my whole life, seen such rotten, misbehaved children in my life. And to my utter shock and embarrassment, they were mine. Lulo really was the only one who ate but that really did not make him any kind of a superstar. The twins were difficult...even about the bread. They always eat the bread. They kept ripping of their shoes and then insisting that we put them back on. THEN. STOP. TAKING. THE. DAMN. THINGS. OFF.

Lulo kept getting up and down in the booth. Both twins insisted on getting out of their high chair which I have a strict "no way in hell" policy about that has something to do with The Breakfast Club and anarchy. J acquiesced and released Juju. And so, of course, Jojo wanted out. I pulled him out. Both high chairs toppled as I held Jojo. Jojo was pinned underneath one by his feet as I tugged at him. A party of 10 watched and waited as I tried to get Jojo out of his toppled high chair as my back spasmed and Juju crawled under my butt while he was fighting with Lulo over a polar bear. Then they all went under the booth and crawled around in gum and sticky floor and some E. Coli and Staphylococcus. They took turns going from one side to the other and then back and would take a break to fling a fork or knife or napkin or bear or penguin or shark and then proceed to cry about it.

Yep, I was that mother. It was really bad. Meanwhile, I was fuming, wondering how it was possible that I did not have a brain aneurysm yet. And our youngish waitress kept exchanging pleasantries and I really just was not able to be nice anymore. It was bad. So, so, bad. So bad that I didn't go to Pinkberry next door after dinner and I was jonesing for another hit of their Original flavor which my friend Mini has told me is laced with crack and I just couldn't go. All I could do was walk, head down, with Jojo in a fireman's carry in my arms, and the diaper bag on my back, and Juju in J's arms and Lulo dragging behind and buckle them in their car seats and get the hell home.

We got home and I drank rum and coke and tried to forget that those children were mine and I was that mother. It didn't work...I still remember and I write about it here to remember it forever.