A few months ago, Diana booked a little pre-Spring Break
jaunt down to Mexico. From the start, it was unlikely I was going to be able to
go. A lot of work junk was colliding. But we kept the option open that I’d be
able to go.
As the week approached, the chanced dropped to zero. I was
in the middle of two new business pitches and winning new business was the best
way to continue being employed and be able to afford pre-Spring Break trips for
the family. Everyone was bummed, but I had been jabbering so often about the
chances being low that no one was particularly surprised.
Suddenly, a tiny little window opened. By some miracle, I
found myself with a non-working weekend. I debated flying down. It was pretty
stupid to spend all my airline miles for essentially 18 hours of time with the
family. It was a waste of money and would very likely make me sick from
exhaustion and general gross airplane grossness.
So of course I went.
The boys were excited. Diana was excited. I was excited.
Grover was excited to be able to make out with the neighbor dog for 2 days.
After a small check in mess, I made it to Mexico and met the
family.
They were determined to give me a full vacation in 18 hours.
We went to the giant Mexican grocery store I love. We found the junkyard dog,
who we named “Bubby” a few years ago. We played Marco Polo. We went to the beach.
The boys disobeyed orders to not get their dinner clothes wet in salt water. I
yelled at them. I took away their screen privileges. I drank a margarita. I gave
back their screen privileges. We ate lobster. Diana and I drank too much wine. We
found a lizard in our rental house. Diana and I stayed up late smooching and listening to Mariachi
bands.
I flew back to Chicago the next morning and collapsed.
Totally worth it.
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