BoobyMoon Part Dos

This past week, we took a family vacation to Mexico.  Just us, our little family of four.  It was another BoobyMoon (as my second surgery is imminent), a chance for us to create lifelong memories, a way to unwind together, and a respite from this long, cold winter.  It was wonderful!  The kids were happy, loved having Daddy for a whole week without work, they swam, they made sandcastles, and we enjoyed our time with each other away from the normal everyday stresses of life.  We actually relaxed thanks to the all-inclusive resort and my husband’s prowess at ordering every vacation libation known to man.  Each time I started to even remotely worry about something (the kids needed more sunblock, the little one was running too fast on the walkways, the big one had a rash), he’d flag a waiter and say, “I’ll have a …., she’ll have a ….” (fill in the blank with any of the following: mojito, mudslide, margarita, mai tai, etc).  It took the edge off, especially since I had been so reluctant to go in the first place.
I was intimidated and scared for so many reasons.  First, the flying: especially with my precious cargo in tow, I loathe any bump or sway of the aircraft.  The flight home yesterday was incredibly turbulent the entire way.  There’s nothing like having two little ones look at you, scrutinizing your expression for reassurance, to make you feel like an Oscar worthy star.  “Hey! Look at Mommy, it’s just like I’m riding a horse!” (cue the William Tell Overture and bounce up and down).  Second, we had never vacationed with just us and the kids.  We have always had the great fortune to be accompanied by grandparents.  I didn’t think this would be a relaxing time.  A “vacation” with a 3 year old and a 1 year old is simply a delightful change of scenery.  I thought it would be more work than pleasure. I was only kind of wrong about that. Third, I did not want to go to Mexico.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely country with a lot to offer.  I had been there at least five times before, but add my kids and that’s a whole other ballgame.  I researched the local hospital, the TSA security reports on the area, and any recent news of kidnappings, abductions, etc. The travel agent literally laughed at me when I said I didn’t want to bring my kids down there for safety and security reasons.  (I thought that was a tad rude, by the way).  Lastly, I was worried about going so close to my surgery and having us pick up some virus or other disease and risk postponing or having to cancel my new tatas.
Needless to say, we are back in one piece.  Of course, not without some bumps along the way.  10 hours of travel time proves too much for our kids.  On the way there and with only 15 minutes left to go, the little one got carsick.  I’m not talking any little spit up situation.  I mean Poltergeist style upheaval.  All over herself, my husband, me, the carseat and the car.  We had to pull over on the side of a Mexican highway to clean up and try desperately to keep the gagging big girl from letting her chunks rise too.  While I was feverishly wiping down the little one, some random man wandered over to the driver and asked for a ride.  As he reached into his pocket I thought for sure he had a gun and we’d have our first family hijacking.  It was a cell phone.  We got back in and held our breath until we got to the resort (from fear and the smell).
Fortunately, the rest of the vacation was really pretty smooth (discounting the bumpy plane ride home on which I was doing my meditative exercise of counting until turbulence stopped.  The kiddos got a great lesson in really high numbers on this flight).  Actually, I would say US Customs was a bit too smooth for my liking.  No wonder people can bring so much stuff in here.  In Mexico, the airport was teeming with security.  I’m talking officers with machine guns AND dogs.  When we landed here, not so much.  Our last line of defense is a guy with a stamp.  Seriously, US?  That’s what we’ve got to keep contraband from entering the country?  My grandmother could do a better job! No, really, my grandmother would be amazing at this.
The TSA just had massive layoffs, but these are the goofballs they kept?  All these guys can do is count.  When we entered last night, the Customs agent simply said, “There’s 4 of you? Great, go ahead.” (stamps the paper form).  My grandmother on the other hand would probably have said, “You look dirty.  I don’t like that look on your face.  Go see that man over there with the rubber gloves.  Guess what?  He’s not a doctor.  Move it, Sonny!” TSA, take note, octogenarians are your perfect employees.  They are really great at “see something, say something”, they are always racially profiling everyone, working the graveyard shift is ok because they “don’t sleep anymore”, and they already have Medicare so they won’t need benefits.  Good for you, good for them, good for the country. Win, win, win.  Think about it.  Even my own grandmother wouldn’t have let me pass last night. “Hey not so fast. Your breasts aren’t hanging as low as they should be after having those two kids.  I know you’ve got something in those fake boobs and we’re going to find out what it is.  Go get those things felt up before you get to come back in here.”

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