The Cursed Vacation

Newsletter 2023-03-27

Our vacation was cursed right from the start.

In life, there are two ways to guarantee things will go wrong: 1) Take the kids with you; 2) Leave the kids behind. This time, we tempted fate with option two. From the outside, our timing seemed to be backwards. We waited until our children were home for spring break before we abandoned them. When they have school, we can’t skip town. We have to be home to make sure they get on and off the bus. If we miss either connection, they’d end up roaming the neighborhood like feral dogs. Or maybe they would just sit in the house quietly watching their screens. Okay, that’s definitely what would happen. Lola and I could be gone for weeks before they’d wonder where we were. They wouldn’t look for us until they ran out of Lucky Charms.

In our defense, we didn’t plan to ditch the kids for the entire vacation. We aren’t that cool, and we can’t tolerate each other for that long. After a few days, we need to unite against a common enemy or that enemy becomes each other. Our actual plan was to divide the break into a series of mini-vacations, only one of which would take us away from the kids. The week was set to kick off on Friday when a Wisconsin couple we met in Europe last summer would stop by to play board games with us on their way to somewhere more important than our house. Saturday, Lola and I would initiate our kid-free weekend with a self-guided winery tour in Michigan with our local friends, Peter and Lila. Lola’s parents volunteered to watch the kids at our house while we were away, and by “volunteered,” I mean I guilted them into it before they could think of an excuse. We’d all be home Monday before setting out mid-week for a family caving-trip. The kids liked hiking through the woods earlier this month, so now we’ll try it deep underground. Time to find out if any of my offspring are part dwarf. For the end of the week, we arranged to visit my parents for a full-contact Easter egg hunt followed by a trivia night title defense at the local Catholic grade school. Last year, we won by bringing my old high school teacher who knew everything about every song ever written. Always stay in touch with the educators who made a difference in your life just in case you need their help to win twenty dollars in gift cards to a fried chicken place. Knowledge is power and also tastes finger-licking good. We had the entire week scheduled down to the minute. That’s when it all went wrong.

I kicked off the first disaster myself when my insides literally started bursting out. I saw the surgeon Wednesday, two days before the start of our vacation. I thought I single-handedly torpedoed the entire week. The surgeon, however, couldn’t operate until April 17th. His delay was my family’s gain. The good news was we could still do all the fun things we had planned. The bad news is I would be doing all of them with a triple hernia. I didn’t need full physical function to play board games or be the designated driver for a wine trip, but the cave situation was a little dicier. We’re scheduled for a four-hour walking tour. I can cover that distance in my current state, but probably not while carrying a kid. If Waffle gets tired, she’ll have to walk. Who am I kidding? If Waffle gets tired, next week I’ll be writing about my fourth hernia. The hernias are also going to slow me down in the adult Easter egg hunt at my parents’ house. There are dollar bills in those eggs, so there won’t be any mercy. If my siblings didn’t take it easy on Lola during any of her pregnancies, they won’t cut me any slack when I have a small bulge in my abdomen. This might be the first year I come home empty-handed. Then again, my twelve and ten-year-olds, Betsy and Mae, will be making their debut in the adult egg hunt. As a family, we should do well, even if I never see a dime of our winnings. If there’s one thing I’ve failed to teach my kids, it’s how to share.

Not long after my diagnosis, the vacation disruptions transitioned from injury to death. Thursday, our river cruise friends texted us to let us know a beloved uncle died unexpectedly. The funeral was scheduled for Monday, which meant their trip from Wisconsin to Indiana was canceled. Normally, I’d assume they were just too polite to say they didn’t want to see us, but there’s a bit of history between the four of us and the grim reaper. The day we met them on the boat, they ended their first game session with us early because they had to watch a video feed for a funeral back home. An otherwise healthy aunt had died suddenly from a blood clot she got after sitting for too long on an extended car ride. That also happened to be the day Lola had severe, unexplained leg pain after flying halfway around the world. The two of us had a fun few hours of panic before we ultimately decided to ignore Lola’s blood clot-like symptoms and assume she was fine. She lived, so I guess we made the right call. Our boat friends also made the correct decision. Every time we get together, someone in their family dies. It’s best if they keep their distance before we wipe out their entire bloodline.

Next, life came after our babysitters. I cleared this weekend with Lola’s parents months ago. They’re retired, so it’s not like they have a lot of competing commitments, but I still wanted to make sure they were available before I dropped a deposit for my two-star Michigan hotel room. I like to treat myself to the okay-er things in life. Bob and Delilah had never backed out on us before, but we’d also never tried to book their services for a vacation that was clearly hexed by some higher power. Lola’s grandfather sent them an emergency message in the middle of the week to come down to his house right away. He’s been a force to be reckoned with as long as I can remember and, into his mid-eighties, could still beat me at both arm wrestling and Trivial Pursuit. Recently, though, he slowed down a step or two. As someone facing surgery for the third time in nine months, I can sympathize. At some point, the warranty on the human body simply runs out. Lola’s grandpa was experiencing extreme back pain and wanted his daughter and son-in-law there as soon as possible. They made the three-hour drive without hesitation. Once they arrived, however, Lola’s grandfather refused to go to the doctor. Eventually, adults in their golden years and toddlers use the same playbook. Lola’s parents spent days convincing him to get the medical treatment he needed and also sorting out his general living situation. Unsurprisingly, our wine weekend fell off their priority list altogether. With one day to go and hotel rooms already booked, we suddenly had no one to watch our children. If ever there was a sign we should give up, it was this.

Undeterred, I did what I’ve been doing my entire life and passed the problem to my parents. They didn’t know anything about our Michigan plans and didn’t expect to hear from me. For once, I had gone out of my way to spare them. If I ask them to babysit every time, they’ll move and change their phone number. My plan backfired, and instead of leaving them alone, I ended up asking them to babysit with even less notice than usual. And by “less,” I mean none. I told them Friday morning that I needed to drop the kids off there Friday night since there wouldn’t be time for me to make the two-hour round trip Saturday morning. We also wouldn’t be back in time Sunday night for me to repeat that trip, so the girls would have to stay with my parents until Monday morning. I had assured my crew they could spend the whole weekend at home, but instead they had to pack for a three-night trip. Thankfully, my broken promise had an upside. My mom has made it her mission in life to supply all children under her care with infinite candy. It would have been healthier for the kids if we had just taken them on the wine tour with us. A bottle of pinot grigio can’t be any worse than unlimited Kit-Kats.

The other side effect of all those changes was that no one was coming to our house. We had spent the entire week feverishly cleaning to pass muster with our boat friends and Lola’s parents. Now, no one would see those vacuum lines in the carpet. By the time an outsider lays eyes on this place again, I’m sure our home will have returned to its natural state, which is a natural disaster. That’s why I have to write about it here. Let the record show that our house was immaculate for one brief period that absolutely no one witnessed. I’d post pictures to prove it, but I don’t want to play a game of “I spy” where ten thousand people point out the dust bunny I missed.

After health problems and other people did their best to derail our vacation plans, the weather took a crack at us. We arrived in Michigan Saturday morning just in time for the wineries to open. So did the snow. The temperature was supposedly in the low thirties, but those readings were off by a few degrees because all the mercury was frozen. Every time we attempted the short walk from our van to yet another winery (in Berrien County, there’s one approximately every eighteen feet), the wind did its best to give us hypothermia as a souvenir. During one particularly strong gust, I swear I saw Elsa’s ice palace. We were the only ones who noticed the cold. As I pondered where to buy survival gear designed for summiting Mount Everest, entire bus loads of twenty-something bridal parties would skip by in short skirts and sun hats. I guess they just build them tougher in Michigan. Also, alcohol is a hell of a drug. Note to self: The designated driver should always wear an extra layer.

After trying everything Michigan had to offer one ounce at a time, we made our way to our hotel, which to our surprise was across the street from Lake Michigan. We had an amazing view, even if it was diagonal over the roof of a sketchy apartment complex. After dinner, we decided to get a closer look. We found a beach parking lot and pulled in. That was a satisfactory proximity for me, but Lola and Lila insisted on leaving the warm van and crossing the beach. Peter and I reluctantly followed in case they fell in. It was too cold to save them, but witnessing what happened would be important for life insurance purposes. They didn’t die, however, and seemed to enjoy themselves. Also, the view was absolutely amazing. This is the picture I took before my fingers froze solid and I had to run to the van. My phone’s photo algorithm really is impressive. It edited out all the shivering.

Curses and other divine meddling aside, it ended up being a wonderful weekend. I’m referring, of course, solely to the parts that were indoors. I can’t wait to see what additional complications arise when I pick up the kids tomorrow to get ready for our cave trip. Clearly the universe is aware of our plans and wants to stop them. Maybe I should sacrifice something to appease it. I don’t have any chickens or goats, but I do have a lot of wine. I hope it likes dry reds.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James