I just returned from a trip to Cape May, NJ with my wife, two sons and my wife's family. And I will assure you of this: There were no tropical drinks, no carefree frolics, and certainly no tranquility or gaudy button-down shirts. Now don't get me wrong, I love my family and enjoy spending time with them. But this was no vacation. Dictionary.com defines vacation as: a period of suspension of work, study, or other activity, usually used for rest, recreation, or travel. Suspension of work used for rest and recreation? Ha! I've never worked harder. And the only thing resting was my libido.
The first thing, of course, to consider when planning a trip with children is the packing process. And it is a process. The items we brought for our beach vacation included the following: diapers, wipes, onesies, pack n' play, double stroller, baby tent, baby swing, nap nanny (big piece of foam they charge you over $100 for), and that's not including any of our stuff! The list necessary to encompass all of these things is longer than the list of names on Wilt Chamberlain's headboard.
One thing I will note before there are any misconceptions about my parental work ethic is that my wife is a much more patient, thorough parent than I am. She plans all of their meals, outfits and overall care yet I'm the one blogging about how hard it is. In related news, after Sonia's second c-section, I complained I had cramps after carrying her flowers to the car. Hey, cut me some slack, I'd just eaten a ham sandwich.
So, we left for Cape May last Sunday about two hours later than we thought we would. Some (most) of that was my fault. Rather than helping pack the kids' suitcases, I opted instead to sit and watch Toy Story 2 with Antonio, my older son. He's at the age now where I can pawn off watching movies I actually enjoy as "spending quality time with my son." Since we left late, we hit a storm on the way there. Well, technically three storms. One of which was the torrential downpour outside, one of which was Antonio valiantly trying to escape his car seat and leap out the window, and one of which was Nate helplessly screaming for a bottle like he was Kirstie Alley and we had him shackled to a desk with nothing but cucumbers and watercress. We got to Cape May after the rest of the family was already out to eat, so we drove to meet them. I dropped Sonia and the kids off at the front and searched for a spot. You'd think it was December 24th at the mall with the parking that was available to me. I ended up parking seven blocks away and stepping directly into a five-inch deep puddle upon my exit from the car. Since I left Sonia with both kids, I was also forced to carry her pink diaper bag with me seven blocks to the restaurant, kid toys intermittently going off with each frustrated step. Clearly, I sacrificed my dignity (not to mention dry shoes) for a few minutes to myself.
Later that night, I received a text message from my mother that read, "Now have a drink and enjoy yourself." It may or may not have been accompanied by a smiley face. Either way, I got a kick out of that. About 90 seconds after reading the text, Antonio head-butted me in the groin. Then, I helped unpack the kids' bags and prepped the baby's bathtub. After that, I tried urinating, which I hadn't done since about Exit 50 when Antonio started pounding on the bathroom door, saying something that resembled, "Come out, play with me!" Which I did, while hurriedly shaking the rest of the urine out and zipping up. Then I put Antonio to sleep, which consisted of the reading of two books, then three books, then a re-reading of the first book. Thankfully, I can still paraphrase like nobody's business and he's way too naive to catch on. Shortly thereafter, I sat on the couch to check on my Words with Friends games on the iPad. Unbeknownst to me, Sonia was still unpacking one of the kid's suitcases. Reluctantly, I stood back up and joined her. I'm still waiting for that drink.
What I haven't mentioned yet is that the day we left for this trip, Antonio was diagnosed with coxsackie virus. In a nutshell, it's a virus that involves painful blisters on your hands, feet and mouth and, of course, is contagious. Considering we were bringing a two month old and meeting my niece and nephews, this couldn't have happened at a better time! Score! And despite it being a virus mainly contracted by children, who do you think got it on the second day of the trip? Wait for it.....me. By the time I'd even sniffed the beach, I had five blisters ranging from my throat to my inner gums, rendering any scallop or crab cake that touched my lips completely unenjoyable and pointless. Sonia got some less antagonizing blisters on her feet. I would have gladly walked across hot coals for just one painless nibble of a lobster tail. And here I thought coxsackie was an STD!
Speaking of the beach, a hardship I face is my constant need for optometric crutches, aka glasses. Since I can't wear a contact in my left eye (don't ask), I'm forced to either walk around half-blind, leaving brightly colored landmarks to indicate where my stuff is OR wear my prescription sunglasses and pray that I'm smart enough not to lose them in the water. And now with my sons, I can't very well walk around without vision and risk holding the hand of some random Vietnamese kid for 45 minutes before I even realized something was awry. Regardless of that risk, Sonia (and pretty much everyone in my family) thought it was idiotic to head into the surf without at least a strap on my glasses. But, anyway, I threw caution to the wind and opted for the optics, choosing to wear my $300 special prescription lenses into the water. I noticed both my sons were covered- one by a tent and one by his cousins. So I figured I was free to play! I hopped gleefully onto the board and paddled out into the ocean. As I did, I noticed a big wave starting to swell. The last thing I remember hearing is my brother in law, Jim, yell to my seven-year-old nephew Nick, "This one's big, get under the water!" I then tried riding the wave and my sunglasses were ripped from my face as quickly as Kim Kardashian's panties by a marginally successful professional athlete. I emerged from the water shouting, "Help! Help!" like an old, frail lady whose purse had been stolen. Nearby swimmers showed mild to vague interest before returning to their normal, carefree lives three seconds later. To her credit, my wife did not say, "I told you so." Instead, she said, "I hope you learn from this mistake." It stung about 7% less.
Me, with my regular specs, apologizing to the ocean for not respecting its heartless powers
I woefully moped back to our umbrella, and then to the beach house, where I gave the surfer dudes my info "in case anything shows up." A bronzed, shaggy-haired gentleman I could barely see replied to me, "Bro, you're better off coming next year. That's when they'll wash up." Clever attempt at gaining repeat business, Dylan McKay. Somewhere in that ocean is a lobster who's sporting Oakleys and getting serious tail. Get it, tail?
If you haven't deduced this yet, I'm kind of a scatterbrain in my personal life. If you need proof, here's some. I also co-run a fantasy football league. My wife doesn't understand it, kind of in the same way I don't understand her interest in The Real Housewives of NJ. But that's life. So, in planning my fantasy football draft (where all 12 of us get together to select our fictional teams for the year), I accidentally planned it for the day we were coming home from Cape May. It was too late to change it by the time I realized. This meant we had to be diligent about packing the car early, eating breakfast and being on the road by no later than 11:00 AM, and hoping beyond hope there were no tractor-trailer accidents or, like, other cars on the road. Turns out, plenty of other cars were on the Parkway that afternoon- on a Sunday in the summer, who'd have thought?! So I wound up being late to my own fantasy football draft, making my picks over the phone, while cringing every time my son Nate started to stir, because that might mean us pulling over to feed him. Clearly, my priorities are as straight as Liberace.
The night before we left, the whole gang of us gathered at the very popular Lobster House, right near the entrance to Cape May. We waited nearly two hours for a table, but it was worth it because the food was sensational. At least that's what everyone told me, including my son who wolfed down a plate of chicken tenders and fries. Me? I wouldn't know. I winced through crab meat au gratin, the heat from the cheese stinging my blisters with each painful bite. But at least I finally got my drink. A strong Jack n' coke, which of course burned my blisters even more. But at least it numbed my soul.
Aside from the obvious niceties of being with my wife and both my sons on the beach for the first time all together, one little nugget made me laugh pretty hard. While at Lobster House, my inquisitive nephew Joe, who is almost 10, asked me if he'd still be alive when our country ran out of oil. I told him "probably not" and he let out a joyous "Awesome!" Gotta hand it to him. He put more thought into his future at age nine than I ever have.
Till next time, be strong and stay sane! And share this with someone who needs a laugh at my expense.
-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
My Podcast: www.courtesyflush.podomatic.com
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