You Can’t Cry Over Spilt Vodka

Two years ago my friend Kim and I took our kids to Chapala, Mexico for a month long trip. She wanted a real Mexican experience and I wanted to do lots of shopping and sitting on the beach. We both got a little bit of what we wanted and had a mostly fabulous time. But, we also had our four kids: Tyler (4), DJ (3.5), Katelyn (1), and Leena (9 months), so there were inevitable moments of pain and suffering as well. Flash forward to the present day – we’re back for Mexico, Take Two and I’m writing this post from the second floor deck of a beachfront house in the Riviera Maya. Not too shabby.

At least not too shabby today. After all, today is Thursday and we’ve had two days of pool, beach, and margaritas, emphasis on the margaritas, to recover from our arrival on Tuesday. After Chapala I had my doubts as to whether we would be brave enough to attempt such an adventure again and I’m pretty sure that Kim did too. But as time passed and we remembered how much fun we had we decided to try again. After all, we rationalized, we can fix the things that we didn’t like on the last trip. Sure, we still have the kids but they’re much older and easier now – no problem! We’ll make sure we get a house with a dishwasher and a pool and life will be sweet. We’ll also cut the trip from a month to 3 weeks – just in case . . .

Tuesday was travel day. Get up at four to make the godawful early flight and keep your fingers crossed that no one has a meltdown. Despite some strange airport seating policies (apparently USAir thinks it is fine for anyone over the age of one to sit separated from their parents) we had an easy flight and arrived in Cancun feeling quite proud of ourselves and our kids. How quickly the proud do fall. First, Leena decided that she really didn’t want to wear any clothes to go though the Cancun airport. Luckily, Kim was able to talk her into wearing her fleece and a pair of leggings which turned out to have a nice hole in the knee. A fine outfit for the 100 degree day we were walking into. Then, Katelyn decided to spend 45 minutes crying as hard as she could because I refused to buy her marshmallow candy at Duty Free. Tyler and DJ added to the fun by whining and moping about who should get to push the stroller. And Kim and I were too busy lugging 4 suitcases, 2 carseats and the vodka from Duty Free to do more that offer advice – “Keep moving,” Stop crying,” and “Don’t fight” were our mantra. We were about half way through the customs line when it happened. A sudden stop with the stroller and the Duty Free bag went flying to the ground. The impact was fatal and vanilla vodka flowed freely across the floor. What could we do? We stared for a moment before herding the kids and running to catch up with the front of the customs line – after all, you can’t cry over spilt vodka.

30 minutes, two searched bags, 3 bathrooms stops, and a haggle over taxi fare later we were finally sitting in the air-conditioned taxi and on our way away. Kim turned to me and said, “I think we might have made a spectacle of ourselves in the airport.” Oh, I don’t know, what do you think?