A Fool's Vacation

For over a year, per my in-laws request, I've had my family's beach house reserved for what would ultimately be Jackson's first trip to the beach. And, for obvious reasons, I've been absolutely giddy about this trip over the entire year. That is, until it all began to slowly but surely fall apart at my fingertips.

It all began earlier this month when my SIL said she'd not be able to come. That then trickled to my MIL who also said she'd not be coming. Or well, she never confirmed that for us nor has she called us in two weeks to follow up as such. But all this was ok because Brandon, Jackson, myself and my mom would all still be able to hit the beach.

I had an intense week of deadlines at work leading up to the long Memorial Weekend. Truly, I have not powered us through that type of deadline schedule since the Fall. I was so proud to leave the office Thursday afternoon knowing all I needed to do Friday was show my sweet face, make sure the boss-men were prepared for their meeting and I could hit the road!

Then it happened...the final bits of our trip unraveled.

My mom called just an hour before we planned to meet, informing me my brother was likely headed into the operating room for emergency surgery to remove his appendix. She'd know more within the hour though. I kept my chin held high, sort of, as we finished cramming every last thing into our car.

Ringing only a millisecond before I jumped to answer her call, she in fact would be headed to GA for my brother's surgery rather than our weekend at Edisto. Womp. Womp. It was a sad change of plans for all.

Brandon and I looked at each other wondering if we should even still go. No extra helping hands were headed to the beach, just us, a wild toddler and his trusty sidekicks aka the dogs.

But we decided to finish packing and head to the beach. Brandon went inside for one last sweep of the house as I loaded dogs into the car. Somehow, the next thing I know, the car has shifted into neutral, closed my leg in the door and is dragging me down the driveway headed straight for the neighbors house.

Horror. Absolute horror.

I screamed for Brandon and in the seconds it took him to run from the house to the car, we'd already collided with the neighbor's tree. Shock is just the beginning of describing how I felt in that moment.

Yet, despite all the signs, we still left for our weekend at the beach because dammit we needed this!

A smooth drive to Edisto lead us to naivley believe that perhaps, just maybe, we were sailing towards calmer seas. We arrived to the beach just in time to provide this toddler his first seaside sunset. It was a true Kodak I mean InstaGram moment.

We returned to the house for a little running around, unpacking and snuggling into bed a la Monsters Inc. on the iPad or as now referred to in our house "Jackson's Puter." I managed to snuggle that kid to sleep and slip out to grab a beer and some couch time with the husband.

Bliss, I tell you.

And then the clock struck 1:30 a.m. and our toddler awoke screaming and kicking. Attempts to woo him back to sleep failed until both mom, dad, dogs and toddler were in the living room bunked up on the couches. The blur of our disparity makes the ending to this night a bit fuzzy, but whatever it is that happened everyone slept for three hours. Just three. 

Again debates of canceling this beach fiasco and making a mad dash for the confines of our home were tossed about. But Brandon pressed on. This was all I had talked about for so long! He did everything in his power to get our little family to the beach that day, and I'm so thankful for his perseverance. 

We spent a good seven hours on the beach that day. We dug. We sang. We laughed. We pointed to birds and sea shells. We ran from the water. We buried our toddler. We chased seagulls. We watched as our son experienced the beach for the very first time. I watched as my son made his first memories on the shores of a beach that hold so many memories in my life. 

This experience was really what I'd been dreaming of over the last year. And thanks to my husband I was able to see that through this weekend despite every last will of the world going against us. 

And upon returning from our joyful day of sea and sand, our terrible-two-year-old reappeared. Just as quickly as he'd thrown himself on the floor, Brandon had packed all our things for us to return home.

Four hours later, we transferred that toddler to his crib and crashed into our own beds. Ten hours after that, Jackson's G-pa picked him up to give us a 48-hour regrouping period. We reeled in our white flag as they exited the driveway dancing for joy at the opportunity to get life back together without a flailing, screaming toddler.

Two entire days to recuperate from our terrible-two-year-old and we spent 70% of the time crafting for his big boy room and the other 30% watching the Netflix special season release of Arrested Development.

Now, it's Wednesday. The wild toddler has returned home. The house only got semi-clean. The Vacation we'd been hoping for was not at all what unfolded over the course of our weekend.

And quite frankly, I'm still not certain if the takeaway here is to push forward in future moments like this or just cancel the damn vacation and put the sprinkler in the front yard with a six-pack for mama.

Either way, shout out to the Husband for holding the weekend together {as much as humanly possible}.

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