Vacation confession

The family vacation is the holy grail of memories and bonding, except why does it feel so damn challenging all the time. Honestly, I don't know why it has to be so hard. Perhaps it's me. I hate the sound of a tired baby. This means I'm counting minutes until naptime, in a hotel, that is noises, whilst missing seeing the older ones who actually can play at the beach enjoy it. 

I remember the days of getting my toes in the sand before ever getting to my destination. What happened to me?

Right now I'm sitting on a nasty sofa bed in an ugly hotel in the dark trying not to breath too hard and praying if I keeping starring at my phone Clair will doze off and catch a few zzzzs. It ain't gonna happen though. So it's just a matter of how long I want to sit here in the dark pretending before picking her up, going out into the hotel world and wrestling my one year old baby alligator through a meal that will no doubt be non nutritional, over priced, fried yuck whilst telling myself at least I fed them. All this followed by a parade if more sandy, wet, tired children needing baths and bed. Followed by a fantasy of enjoying a glass of wine on the balcony with my husband but instead being more toeture whilst I attempt again to put the kids to bed in this place and fail miserably. Ugg

Day 1 vacation has not been a vacation. Instead a disappointment. Too much build up for something so damn stressful. 

Confession of reality feels great. Now, can I possibly look up. We shall see.