This is not a week on the beach

Thankful Friday
First of all, I want to choke the guy who coined the term staycation. Is there a more grating word in the trying-to-get-into-the-dictionary lexicon?

Now that the mood is set, a little context: sometime in early March when I was ready to have a job-related nervous breakdown, I decided I could get my head straight with a good, soul-cleansing away-from-it-all vacation. Hugh and I agreed a sunny beach would be the best medicine, but money's funny so we settled on renting a beachside house in Ensenada. We could drive instead of flying, and we could get a place on the beach for a whole week for $1,000. Once there, everything would be cheap: we'd cook at least half our meals, and we'd read books and sleep late and play guitar and sing and play Milles Bornes. And, best of all, we'd spend most of every day playing on the beach.

Sure, we'd heard there was some border violence. But that sort of thing is always overblown, and what were the chances, really? We sent the owner of the vacation home a $500 deposit.

Then it seemed like every other thing I heard in the news was about the violence on the border. Report on NPR compared the casualty numbers to the numbers in Iraq. I started pay a little more attention. Sure, I'd be okay heading down there with Hugh and taking our chances, knowing how likely it was that we'd sail through to Ensenada without incident. But -- and no offense to Hugh, of course -- taking the risk with the kids in tow was starting to feel wrong.

We cancelled. Asked if we could get even half our deposit back.

We couldn't.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our equity line had been cut off and we owed our contractor a bunch of money, and it didn't seem like a good idea to plan an alternative trip. Instead I'd take the week off and we'd spend it tramping around the Bay Area. But work was busy. Really busy.

I'd take Wednesday through Friday instead.

Well, half of Wednesday.

I had my hopes riding high on Thursday and Friday. Thursday would be San Francisco Day, Cal Academy of Sciences and, I hoped, a trek across the Golden Gate Bridge. Well, don't let the pictures below fool you. There were a few bright spots, sure, but for the most part we had the kind of day that, if observed, would convince childless couples to never, ever, ever have children. There was whining about nothing, there was refusing to listen, there was climbing on everything, pouting, crying in public and sitting in the middle of the floor in a crowded place refusing to budge: 65% Taavi, 20% Kai, 10% Eli and a smidge of Caiman.

I was ready to pull my hair out.

And it wasn't just the kids. It was the infernal crowds packed into this great but not a freaking wonder of the world museum and, no doubt, the constant feeling that I was supposed to be digging my toes into warm sand on a sunny beach in Mexico.

We were at the end of our parental rope by the time we escaped from Golden Gate Park and stumbled into Crepe n Coffee, an old haunt of ours on California Street, for a late lunch, where Kai had a major pout fest. It was cold and drizzly outside, and my Golden Gate Bridge plan didn't have a chance.

Friday, ah Friday. Clean slate! When I woke up the skies were bright blue, adorned with puffy white clouds. The air smelled clean and fresh, and I felt a swell of hope. I was dreaming of a hike in Sunol replete with wildflowers (read about it here on Weekend Sherpa), but it took forever to get everyone up and ready to go, and we didn't get out of the house for breakfast (the kitchen is all torn up because, you know, our DECK is being rebuilt) until it was 11 a.m. and the skies were gray. Rain was forecast for Sunol. Breakfast was good but expensive. It was after noon and Eli had to be at baseball practice by 5:00.

This was definitely not a week on the beach. I need a week at the beach.

So I am not grateful for anything, am I? I am miserable and cranky and would quit my job in a heartbeat if I could afford it. I am craving simple things -- the same things I quit my last job for: time to run and write and see more of my kids, my husband and my mom. More time OUTSIDE, in nature, breathing air that hasn't been ciruclating around the stuffy cubicles and conference rooms at work, mixing with corporate political b.s.

But here's the deal. I know I said you shouldn't be fooled by the pictures. But on second thought, even if the instants I captured were, indeed, mere instants, I'm thankful for them. Kai's smile, Taavi's big eyes, delicate, backlit jellyfish floating...

Breathe, Bethie. Your beach is out there somewhere, and it'll be there for you when you find your way there.