Every winter, as the holidays fade away, I find myself daydreaming about my ideal beach getaway. In my mind, this fantasy beach vacation is absolute bliss. I imagine lounging for hours in the sun, my skin glowing a perfect shade of caramel. I can picture myself taking long, peaceful runs along the shore, relishing the sound of the waves. Dining with my partner at charming seaside eateries, we savor colorful cocktails while my hair flows effortlessly in the breeze. And—let’s be real—it never rains in this version.
Somewhere around the beach, my kids are happily engrossed in discovering marine life or writing about seagulls’ habits, perhaps flying kites or something equally picturesque. They are definitely dressed in linen, looking perfectly relaxed.
But then there’s Beach Vacation Reality, which looks remarkably different: “No, throwing sand at your brother is NOT a new game!” I find myself yelling. “Did you just blast him in the face with sunscreen? What on earth?!”
In this real-life scenario, my attempts to read are constantly interrupted. My youngest, who just turned 10, sidles up to me, asking a barrage of questions: “Mom, how much longer until you finish that? Are you done yet? It looks long. What’s next?” And let’s not forget that every day, it’s the same relentless routine of preparing three meals, which becomes a chore I manage to avoid during the rest of the year. During our beach trip, I end up grocery shopping more than I do in an entire month—it’s not exactly the vacation vibe I envisioned. Somehow, I always forget about this part in my beach fantasy.
Afternoons bring those pesky summer storms, forcing us indoors, where my boys seem to apply sand and water to every surface available. My hair transforms into a wild, frizzy mess, and by day five, I’m covered in red bumps from a cocktail of sand, saltwater, sunscreen, razor burn, and pesky mosquitoes. Our vacation home looks like a tornado hit it, with wet towels and mismatched flip-flops strewn everywhere. Seriously, how do we have six left shoes?
By Thursday, I find myself seriously considering an early escape. I could easily rent a car and head home for a little peace and quiet. I mean, that’s normal, right? Every year, my friend texts, “It’s Thursday at the beach—are you ready to come home?”
And packing? Let’s not even start. In my dream scenario, I effortlessly toss a few essentials into a small bag: bikini, flip-flops, a pair of running shoes, shorts, a T-shirt, and off we go! Of course, the reality is quite different. Just as I’m about to exclaim, “Let’s hit the road!” I remember the giant rooftop box needs to be attached to our car to fit all the golf clubs and beach toys. And don’t forget the coolers and electronics—we are definitely those people.
Unpacking upon arrival is just as exhausting as repacking for our departure. By the end of Beach Vacation Reality, I’m left more drained than when I started, requiring gallons of aloe to soothe my irritated skin, and my hair is a total wreck.
My mom often says I’ll look back fondly on this chaotic experience someday, but I’m pretty sure that’s just one of her many white lies in her never-ending quest for grandchildren. I see through it, Mom.
“Wow, I can’t wait for our beach week!” my older son, Jake, proclaimed the other day. He’s now 15, and we’re heading back to our favorite spot for the 11th year in a row. “It’s always the highlight of my year,” he said, beaming.
“I know,” I replied, wrapping my arm around his lanky shoulders. “It really is the best, isn’t it?”
Absolutely, it is! Because in my head, the beach vacation is still a haven of relaxation and fun, and there’s no need to dive into the reality of it until the last possible moment.
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In summary, the contrast between the idyllic beach vacation in my head and the chaotic reality can be stark. While the fantasy is filled with relaxation and tranquility, the reality is often a whirlwind of family demands and logistical challenges. Yet, despite the chaos, the memories created during these trips often make it all worthwhile.