Maybe I was crazy for imagining a relaxing week at the beach with four children under 5 years old. Maybe I was just plain stupid. But as I anticipated a ten-day beach vacation with my daughters, my brother, my niece and my mother, I couldn’t help but fantasize.
We would take walks on the beach, build sandcastles and go to the park. No one would poop in the indoor swimming pool, and we would be able to swim whenever we wanted.
As the children napped and played quietly together - it’s OK for you to laugh now, I realize this is ridiculous - I would whip out my laptop and gaze over the Gulf as I worked on my latest work in progress.
I was going to complete half the book while I was there because my children would be so entertained by the view and our family togetherness that they would forget I was even there.
Reality check.
In the first two days of our vacation three of my family members had a violent stomach bug, complete with vomiting and diarrhea. My husband had to drive from the Alabama Gulf Coast all the way back to Mississippi, by himself, with a barf bag riding shotgun.
Once the virus passed, my oldest and youngest daughters developed hacking coughs and runny noses that persisted even through my most valiant efforts to ignore their symptoms and hope they got better on their own.
I drove them to an urgent care facility on a whim. I figured we needed to get well, by golly, so my vacation fantasy could come into fruition.
By the end of the evening, I was sitting at South Baldwin Medical Center waiting for an ENT to remove a penny my 15-month-old had swallowed after her nap but before I decided to take her to the doctor. It was lodged in her esophagus and could have easily blocked her airway.
We were beyond fortunate and blessed to have the best care available.
A pediatric ENT who wasn’t even on call came to the hospital in the middle of the night to take care of my baby. And I was so thankful that I had listened to my gut when I decided it was time to go get medical help. But after being awake for 24 hours, rushing my child to the emergency room in the middle of the night, waiting for her to be put to sleep while I sat in another room, helpless, the only place I wanted to be was home.
My husband and I packed up all of our kids and made the drive to Hilltop Restaurant in Blackwater for their first shrimp boil to meet our best friends and their three children.
All ten of us crowded around a table for six, Aubrey, my oldest daughter, hopped into a chair with her best friend, Elizabeth, and began sharing fries off of her plate, like she had seen her yesterday and not the two weeks it had actually been.
Emma cozied up to my best friend, Lizzie, in her preferred seat, so she could lean over and whisper to Miss Lizzie whenever she felt the urge.
As I sipped on my beer I glanced around the crowded restaurant and saw many familiar faces. I nodded to an acquaintance I had met at an area church and talked about kids with another preschool mommy as Zeb placed orders for the whole family.
We ate boiled potatoes, corn on the cob and shrimp so fresh that it tasted like it had been pulled straight from the Gulf.
We laughed out loud as we caught up with our friends and ate until our tummies and our tables couldn’t hold anymore.
We got in the car for the short drive home. It was dusk, and I could see purplish-black clouds gathering over the fields. It was quiet in the car as we drove down the hill and back into the sprawling Delta. Nobody asked if we were there, yet. No one asked how much longer or yelled that they needed to pee or wanted a snack.
We came home to our house. The children put on pajamas, brushed their teeth and climbed into their very own beds. I rocked my baby and read her a story before I placed her gently in her crib, taking a moment to trail my fingertips along her soft Gerber baby profile and thank God for His mercy and grace for saving her.
I plopped on the couch, tired after a long day of spring cleaning, scratched my head and tried to figure out exactly what it was I thought I needed a vacation from to begin with. That may not be the emerald waters of the Gulf of Mexico in my backyard, but it’ll do just fine. I’m home, and nothing can top that.
- Robin O’Bryant is a mother to three daughters, author and new Greenwood resident. She will be writing a weekly column about her family’s new life in our community. Read more at her blog at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her at zebandrobin@hotmail.com.
