Happy (Throwback) Thursday, Rebels!

I was going to write a post about the first few days of my “vacation” to Mexico with my toddler and infant (which, BTW, has already involved a cancelled flight, a new tooth, a raging fever, vomit, and a trip to the doctor – don’t worry though, baby seems to be on the mend now and we’re once again feeling optimistic about the next 3 weeks in paradise), but then I remembered that last December, Aleks had already written a post that sums it all up PERFECTLY… so now I can redirect my writing energy back into sipping my coffee & Baileys and applying After Bite. Fucking mosquitoes! 

xx. N

SO WHOSE VACATION IS IT, ANYWAY?

THE BABY’S. AND ONLY THE BABY’S.

(You know whose vacation it ISN’T? Yours.)

Dear friends and co-workers who I left behind when I blew the popsicle stand called Toronto for an extended leave to the south because…. screw you, winter.

I do consider myself mighty lucky for having one of those jobs that require a laptop, a phone and a strong coffee, and I take full advantage when I can.

But I beg of you, please do not refer to my time away from home as a “vacation” merely because I’m not cold. I assure you, it’s not even close. For starters, it’s not recreational.

Before I begin and everyone jumps down my throat with the whole – OH WHATEVER! IT’S SO COLD HERE! AT LEAST YOU HAVE THE BEACH! – I totally agree, and that’s why I left… it’s warmer. But that’s about it. *For the record, the shit storms of the north have made it gloomy, chilly, and (don’t feel too bad for me but) pretty miserable too. It’s not Toronto cold – I know, but still. I didn’t come here to wear a sweater.

SO, let me set the record straight. I don’t spend my days laying out like a prima donna in a fancy hotel cabana in West Palm Beach. I’m certainly not sipping pricey margaritas by a pool in South Beach with a Hotel Costes playlist in the background. And I’m sure as FUCK not getting any more rest.

From the moment my feet hit the floor at 6:30am – which has recently become 5:30am (first piece of evidence to indicate that this is NOT a vacation) – I do not stop moving until my son’s bedtime at 8pm. Given that he’s on his second round of a mucus-filled cold, the whole night is interrupted with cries for mommy, syrup and water. Meal times are hit and miss (depending on mood and lack of appetite due to said cold) and toddler mood swings are abundant.

Of course there are pluses in there too – the quiet time we spend together in the sand digging about, or our daily tackle sessions on the living room floor that result in priceless laughter and love. This daily routine is rewarding yes, but also physically exhausting (Newsflash: caring for a small human IS a hell of a lot of work).

Now before you think this is just another tired mommy hating on everything – don’t get it twisted. I’m loving my time with my son out here in the sometimes-sunny Sunshine State, and I’m cherishing all the uninterrupted moments we’re having together because I know they will be gone too soon.

I’m just here to remind you that I’m not lathering SPF and sunning all day long; I’m medicating fevers and flus, re-sleep training with every set back that throws off his routine, putting out tantrum fires, reasoning with a tiny dictator, thinking of shit to do when it rains all fucking day (we are now regulars at Barnes and Noble), all while trying to make sure he doesn’t slip and fall on wet tiles at any given moment or drown in a near by pool (or massive body of water in general). As an added bonus, I’ve been sleeping on a pullout couch for a month because God forbid my son feels my presence in his room and I disrupt his sleep by sharing the same oxygen.

And then,  I “work” work in between. Nap times (which are now shittier than ever) are fully put towards answering emails and doing my “real” job – which by the way, is the less challenging of the two – and right after bed time, instead of making myself a feast, I grab some half-assed plate of food, a bottle of wine and power through some more on my to do list. Sounds a lot like a weekend at SOHO House, no? NO.*

*I am planning on some 24 hour escapes to live the good life. I.E: chug martinis.

My “down time” is essentially spent with my kid (ok, fine not the worst), or at 11pm when I get through one chapter of my book and conk the fuck out. Once in a while, I bust out of here with a few nearby friends and get drunk way too early at Rocco’s Tacos. Hey, this is sounding a lot like… wait… not a vacation.

As any mama knows, vacationing with your child is their vacation ONLY. If you’re on your own, you’re screwed. If you’re with the hubs, kudos for getting him on board to babysit – aka parent – so you can shower. If you brought your nanny, you’re a fucking GENIUS *slow clap*. If you’re staying with your in-laws (current situation) it’s nice and sweet, but all in all, you feel obliged to do the dirty work and just let them do the fun stuff, because let’s be real – they will have your kid living off Chips Ahoy if you don’t micro manage the shit out of that whole situation.

So while you silently scan my Instagram and curse my name every time I post a photo of a seashell or palm tree, let me remind you that it’s a thing I curate very well and it is most definitely the highlight reel. The live edit is far from romantic, and much more like a typical day as a mom, just a little higher on the temperature scale. Translation: I’m still doing my job, just at another location.

Now let me get back to the REAL, yet small, pleasures of this home away from home – unbelievably strong & unbreakable nails (Vitmain D??!), not having to blow dry my hair in three weeks (salt air don’t care), and the fact that I can purchase a relatively great bottle of wine at any Publix or Wallgreens in town for like 12 bucks.

xx A

Photos by one of my favorites, Helmut Newton.
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