This beats the hell out of my last birthday.

St Thomas.
Umbrella drinks.
Connecting with an old friend.
Fine dining.
Ice cream bars.
Das Big Boy feeding fishy crackers to Little Liebchen.
Some pooping in the potty (by Das Big Boy, not me. Well, by me too, if you must know. But that was less of an accomplishment.)


It’s not pure idyll (lest you hate me): there are still fine dining meltdowns over boobs that won’t fit out of new party dresses (by LL; everyone else was content with my boobs in my dress), simul-crying by over tired children, forgotten diapers on a visit to another island, and bickering over who wakes up first; but really, it’s pretty frickin’ awesome. Anyone who tells you vacation with their kids isn’t vacation is bad at vacation, dislikes their kids, or didn’t think to travel with their parents.

Sweet ballerinas.


2 Comments on “36”

  1. Liz Gray says:

    Or is fucking tired because everyone works full time and still has to clean up the dishes in the Caribbean. Don’t judge. (And also, forgot to bring their parents.) (And also, doesn’t really like the kids.) Next time, it’s Club Med all inclusive.

    • Leda says:

      No judgment, Liz. We came with my parents to an all inclusive.
      Also, I think vacation is more of a vacay for the at home parent who suddenly has more people to share child responsibilities with (in my case, 3 more people).
      But, yeah. Next time, go somewhere where you don’t have to do the dishes. Active vacations in interesting places are for people without small kids.

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