It’s Friday morning at 10AM, and I’ve finally been granted a moment of silence after Brandon and Reva headed down to the beach early this morning. Joseph fell asleep in the middle of the morning rush so we wanted to give him a few extra minutes out of the sun, and if I’m being perfectly honest, I wanted to write in peace in quiet. I wanted to hear the sound of my own thoughts, or the sound of no thoughts, alongside the ocean breeze.
We’re in Florida, and it’s another gorgeous, sunny day. The kind of day that begs to be basked in, that robs your attention of whatever it may be. I don’t know how anyone who lives here gets work done. It’s our first time traveling with two kids and the first 24 hours were memorable, to say the least. Let me paint you an honest picture, dear reader.
Joseph and Reva wake us up synchronously at 7:30. The shades glide on up and the sun streams in. Ah, the natural beauty of an early morning. I brush my teeth and pour an iced coffee, then proceed to make Reva breakfast. Then I change Joseph, and then Reva wants a second helping of Honey Nut Cheerios. No problem, sweet pea. Anything for you!
Just as I remember the tall glass of iced coffee that waits for me on the kitchen counter, surely now covered in condensation, Joseph starts crying. I gulp down half the cup and put the pacifier in his mouth. I come back to the kitchen to find Reva running around, half smeared in sunscreen, looking for snacks. I dismiss her request and rush to change into my own bathing suit. I attempt to moisturize and apply sunscreen. My children have been blessed with my alabaster complexion, so good luck to all of us on the beach. Brandon has taken on the job of Family Sunscreen Vigilante, and his shift starts now. He begins to chase Reva and I around the apartment, inspecting our skin for signs of proper SPF application. He continues his policing all throughout the day, demanding reapplications on the beach and dispensing threats if his requests are not met immediately. Hey, someone’s gotta do it.
By the time the sunscreen is applied, the bag needs to be packed. Changes of clothes, extra pacifiers, diapers, wipes, a swaddle, hats… What am I forgetting? Undoubtedly something will be forgotten. Lunch, and of course more snacks, needed to be sliced and diced and packed into containers. Riddle me this: why is it always the mom who is slicing and dicing? I pack peppers and cucumbers and berries and watermelon, because heaven forbid we miss a single meal, and stack the glass containers into our beach bag. I know glass is better for my health and the environment and blahty bloo blah but God damn is it heavy. Why is it so damn heavy?
Finally, the skin is slathered and the suits are on and the bags are packed and it is time to begin herding the cattle. I pick up Joseph, prepare to go downstairs, and then loiter in the hallway for twenty minutes while Brandon calls Reva’s name 74 times. My arms are on fire, but I’m quasi grateful since this is my only form of exercise at the moment. I throw in a few squats too and wonder if anyone on the security camera is seeing this exercise routine I’ve created. She’s coming, she’s coming, she just has to show us this really cool trick first. She jumps, we act amazed. Ok let’s go. No, no, now she’s really coming, she just has to pee really quickly. Ok, now she’s really coming, but do we have a snack? She is “so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so hungry!”
As we go downstairs and exit on the pool level, we learn that plot twist!…. the pool is closed for renovations. Here comes an opportunity to get creative that I didn’t know I needed. Ok fine, no pool. We get down to the ocean and plot twist! It’s high tide, the waves are ginormous and there is a whole lotta seagrass hanging out in the water. Funny side story: when were traveling to places like Little Corn Island in Nicaragua (pre-kids), the beach at our hotel had so.much.seagrass. We couldn’t swim in the water at all. The hotel, seeing several visibly upset guests, came up with a solution. They offered everyone a free cookie to apologize for the seagrass and it came with a special seagrass cocktail. 1 per person, while supplies lasted. It’s like, I lost the thing I really wanted to do here but I did gain a simple carb. Not so bad? Is this what it feels like to be three years old?
So the ocean is seagrassed up and the tide is high and there is no way come hell or high water that my kid is going swimming in there. She announces a strike on swimming and instead will opt for playing in the sand. Or eating it. Or throwing it at us. Chef kiss.
But no problem, because we planned ahead and had beach toys shipped to the house! We have beach toys available! We are such smart and creative parents who think ahead! So we take those out and feel a sense of ease for about 13 minutes until she gets tired of them. What do you think? Just as they get old, she needs a snack and boom! Joseph is up again, also ready for his brunch. At least they share a mealtime?
On the boob he goes, while my fingers scroll through my phone looking for options of how to entertain my 3.9 year old for the next four days. A challenge, I like it! I recall that my aunt told me to buy an inflatable baby pool for Joseph but could it also work for Reva? Lama lo? Now where could I find one as soon as humanely possible…Walgreens, perhaps. Coincidentally, I forgot to pack my own medication so I had to go pick up a prescription anyways.
As soon as Joseph finished his second course, aka drank milk from both boobs, I put on my sandals and raced off to Walgreens. The moment I decide to “go for a walk” in most American cities outside of New York, I realize why I live in New York. Even though the Walgreens is only 5 minutes away by foot, it’s just not comfortable to walk. The pathways are narrow to make room for giant roads and for many cars. Almost every car that passes is a luxury car, beyond the likes of Mercedes-Benz. Maserati, Bentley, Aston-Martin, vehicles with very fancy names zip by. A Tesla quietly slides alongside me and it is as common place as a Camry here. Miami is most certainly the land of the fast and the furious.
I listen to the dinging of the button that I pressed to cross the street. “Ding, ding, ding, please wait.” Finally it’s my turn to cross. The BMWs slow down and I make haste. I pass by a few strip-mall-style plazas (another city planning choice that I strongly dislike) and then veer into Walgreens. I pick up my prescription and then browse the beach-stuff-aisle. They seem to have everything here, except of course, kiddie pools. “Have you tried the CVS a few doors down?” the pharmacist asks me. No I have not, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Reva occupied. I speed walk, sweating profusely, again thinking about how wonderful it is to live in Brooklyn, where walking is the preferred mode of transportation. I remember some click-baity stat in a click-baity article about how New Yorkers and Parisians walk the most compared to their fellow countrymen. Maybe it’s fake news nonetheless, I like how it sounded because New York and Paris are two of my favorite places on this earth. You can take the girl out of the city…
I huff and I puff and when I waltz into CVS, I feel hopeful. I scan the aisles and my hope dwindles at full tilt. No kiddie pool to be found, but they do have an entire aisle dedicated to marshmallow peeps for the upcoming Easter holiday. Brilliant. What now? I need instant delivery. I know that someone will certainly be happy to charge me a premium and deliver me a kiddie pool in 2 hours or less.
I leave the blessed air-conditioning and walk back towards Brandon and Reva, the sun blaring in my eyes. I can’t see the screen on my phone so instead of putting it away like a normal person, I max up the brightness and take off my sunglasses. Victory must be mine! I need this kiddie pool, damn it! I browse through the digital aisles of Target, filtering by least to most expensive and simultaneously try to read reviews of these plastic, inflatable pools made in China. I land on a $20 option that looks promising and then spend the next ten blocks trying to login and punch in my credit card information.
Midway through the walk, a smoothie is requested by the parent left alone on the beach with two kids (Brandon) so I dip into the local juice spot. I can’t refuse him now. There is a sign in their parking lot that reads “If you park here for Joe and The Juice you better add the price of towing to your juice price.” Funny. Floridians are funny. Of course there is only one girl both working at the register and making all the juices so her pace is molasses. I do feel for her predicament but the New Yorker in me is tap-tap-tapping my feet. I stop myself. Namaste. I’m on vacation. Island time! Relax, Jane!
Once the smoothie is secured into my non-dominant claw hand, I race back to the beach. I can see from about 5 chairs away that Reva has left the building and lost her cool. It’s all figurative until I come closer and see that her eyes are red and snot is running down her nose. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I flash back to the morning coffee run-in with a classmate’s mom just before we left. Her son was out sick with some virus that half the class had. I felt so happy that we had dodged that bullet. I sheepishly place my hand on her head. But of course, as blazing hot as the Miami sun. She is finally the lucky recipient of the daycare virus of the week.
Screw the kiddie pool that I just spent literal hours and hundreds of steps sourcing. Up to the room we go. Bye bye, beach. It takes us a thirty minutes to walk .01 miles because one child hates our guts for making her leave the beach (that she didn’t want to swim in) and the other can’t hold his head up.
Upstairs we administer God’s gift to parents and physicians everywhere: children’s Tylenol. She gets in bed and requests to watch Blippi and to eat mac and cheese, as well as pretzels and apples (?) and I agree to everything her ladyship requests because she is the captain now. I open up Instagram for a moment, an escape from my alleged escape, and see a message from my friend Liza. She wants to know if I have any recommendations for traveling with kids. She knows I’m going to Florida and is going away with 2-under-3 soon. “Don’t” I think to myself. She has caught me in the wrong moment, in the middle of the riptide, when the shore is far, far, away and I am beyond advice. I half joke again, advising her not to read this article.
The Tylenol works immediately and Reva starts to feel better. The rest of the day is still toggled on survival mode. Much too much Blippi is followed by a failed attempt to go back to the beach. I manage to take Reva for a walk to pick up Thai after our other dinner plans are abandoned. We stop in the pharmacy to buy ear probes for the thermometer, which are wildly overpriced. She convinces me to buy her a “cold drink” to “calm her down” and again, I oblige because I’ll do almost anything to keep my kid happy at this point. I get a notification that the plastic pool has been delivered. The damn pool, I had forgotten all about it by now. At least the virus has spared Brandon’s lung capacity this time? I’m all about looking on the bright side.
Brandon and I take turns heaping the pad thai down our gullets, right out of the plastic containers. No wining, no real dining, this is food for fuel. This day is our Everest. After said sustenance, sleeves are rolled up and bed time is tackled. I change Joseph’s diaper for the 98th time, and Brandon begins reading books to Reva. It’s The Teeny Tiny Matzah House & Amelia Bedelia By The Yard for her highness tonight. Then Brandon and I swap so Reva gets attention from each of us before bed. I rub her back just the way she likes, until I’m instructed to switch to “long scratches.” I start scratching. “Too hard,” she says. I let loose. “Too short” she says. My oh my, I need a cocktail.
Finally, she falls asleep in my arms and I think about how to properly respond to Liza’s direct message on Instagram. But first, a drink. A cold, cold, drink and some cold, cold ice cream straight from the carton must be in my future. We survived day one.