The “Girls’” trip

No boys allowed. Not even Clark

I always question people who say they are not close to their siblings. Like, why? I’ve already shared my love letter to my brother, but I also have two older sisters, and I talk to them all the time. Every summer, my mom, 2 sisters, sometimes my sister-in-law Lakon, our combined 4 daughters, and I go on a beach trip. We first started this tradition when my eldest sister was in high school, and then it was interrupted for a few years while she and my other sister were in college, med school, grad school, etc. Basically they were too busy building their fabulous lives to go on vacation with me. Those bitches 🙄.

The girls’ trip. No boys are allowed. Not even tiny ones. I mean, think about it. Guys always want to do things on beach trips instead of just relax. Also chicken salad and fruit aren’t enough to satisfy them for lunch. So, basically they aren’t allowed to come and poop all over our trip. Seat’s taken, you can’t sit with us, bye Felicia 👋

Anyway, when Katie (#1) was pregnant with her first baby, we started up the tradition again. We stayed in a hotel on that trip, and Katie was all, “I’m cool, no worries. Y’all can watch TV while I sleep. It won’t bother me!” Five minutes later, the room next to us was being a little loud. She shoots up out of bed, grabs her slipper from the floor and begins smacking the wall, “BE QUIET!!!” She promptly lay back down with her eyes closed. Anna (#2) and my mom and I exchanged glances, turned off the TV, and wordlessly went to sleep at 7 pm 🤫. No one wanted that wrath (or slipper) directed at them.

We’ve since mostly stayed in condos, occasionally hotels, and most recently at my parents’ new beach house. We eat chick food, are supremely lazy, and laugh a lot.

One year, we were staying at a condo in Gulf Shores, and my niece chunked her baby doll’s pacifier off the balcony. She then cried and cried for it because toddlers are rational. We looked for ages, but never found that one. Then there was the year that Lakon had to dig a belly hole in the sand to accommodate her very pregnant belly. Then there was the year Katie took a muscle relaxer for her janky neck before playing cards and just got stupid. Probably the only time I’ve been able to beat her because she was literally moving in slow motion. I’ll never beat Anna. She’s a freak and can play a whole deck. Ugh, and last year I was about 11 weeks pregnant with Clark, and Darcy wasn’t walking yet. Toting her and our beach gear while I was miserably ill was awful, so Anna and Mom did the grunt work on that trip. Also Darcy was basically just miserable on that trip. She was demanding (surprise, surprise), and hated the beach after about 30 minutes. We tried to make it more bearable with a baby pool for her to play in. My sister Anna had to blow that bad boy up and ultimately it did nothing to convince Darcy that the sand and water were not the devil. Anna still bitches about that.

This year, we had our first stay in my parent’s new beach house. It is just beautiful, and I swear we had the best time! I should mention that Katie is a gourmet chef. Seriously, she is amazing and everything that we ate was sublime. My favorite was a sea bass dish she made. Also she mixes fabulous cocktails, and I was the only one to benefit because Anna is pregnant and my mom doesn’t drink at all. Katie and I also took the kids crabbing one night, and it was hysterical. Katie’s daughter is a beast at catching things and crabs are no exception. Anna’s kids–not so much (God bless ’em), but seeing all of them chase after those crabs was hilarious. We then took the golf cart off-roading. Not exactly intentionally, but memorable all the same. I really haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

Anna has had a difficult pregnancy and doesn’t need to carry anything but herself, so Mavis, Katie and I carried all our gear to and from the beach each day. This wasn’t a problem until one afternoon where Darcy decided she needed to be carried across the sand. I told her, “No.” Cue the full-on meltdown. She screamed from our spot on the beach all the way to the boardwalk. We passed by a tent of people laughing and they pointed to her and said, “Does she happen to be about two?” “Uh, yes. How ever could you guess?” They just laughed and said, “Darcy, what’s wrong?” Darcy cut them an evil look and continued to sob. But guess what? The next day when I told her no, she didn’t cry (as much). So, I’m counting that as a win. 

My mom plans all these precious parties for the girls during the trip. She picks a theme for every night and it was just the cutest thing. The first night was a barn party, the second, a unicorn party, and the final night was a pink pirate party complete with a scavenger hunt. It was so much fun! The adults had just as much fun as the little girls. My mom really is amazing. She cares about all the little details and makes everything so special. She’s always been that way, and I strive to make similar memories with my babies.

Ladies, if you weren’t so fortunate to be born into a girl-tribe, then you’ve gotta make your own. Pick your friends and hold them close. Go on the beach trip. Help your girl out when she is big and pregnant and basically useless, and forgive them when they’re being a bitch (never me). Cook the amazing food and laugh at each others kids when they faceplant during a tantrum. Go off-roading with the golf cart. Make fun of each others hairy arms and talk about everything from Jesus to snissing to sex and all topics that fall in between. You can google snissing if you don’t know what it means, but if you’ve had a child then you’ve experienced it.

If you were born into a girl tribe, then you are lucky. Super lucky. Foster that relationship and love each other hard. Just because you aren’t close now doesn’t mean you can’t build that relationship into something worth having. Look, I love my sisters, but I definitely still argue with them. For instance, two weeks before the beach trip I told Katie she was uncompassionate and sucked at being a sister. Three days later, I apologized and told her that I knew I was actually being crazy, but she still sucked and was old AF. It’s all about balance, you see. I love these women so much. I mean, they’re control freaks and judgmental and not nearly as funny as I am (God bless ’em), but I love them and couldn’t imagine my life without them. I am #blessed.

I am perfect. Except when I’m not.

We can all agree that there are some days that we just KILL it. We are warriors. We are multi-taskers. We dust all the surfaces, and plan full, hearty meals. We can wear white shirts and not spill on them. Unstoppable, unbreakable, we are #flawless. And then there are the days that I choke on air and sneeze while eating Wheaties. If you’ve never done that before just trust me when I say it’s really bad. Like, real bad. So in honor of these moments, I’m going to share with you the recent ways in which I am #flawless and also the ways in which I am just the worst ever.

Flawless:
1. Did laundry completely. Even folded it from the dryer without waiting so long that we run out of clothes and have to get dressed from the dryer the usual length of time.
2. Took Darcy to the grocery store by myself, dealt with 2 meltdowns, and still got everything on my list.
3. Made those homemade doily Valentines with Darcy and did not lose my shit when she kept ripping them, sticking the stickers on the floor, and generally acting like a wild animal. I was serene and good and understanding mom.
4. I went on my first post-partum run! It was absolutely terrible, but I did it and did not die to death like I wanted to. Counting that one as a win.
5. Took Clark to 4 different MD appointments and did not collapse from anxiety. I mean, it was close, but I survived #meds

Worst ever:
1. I’m playing with Darcy, who is in a super fun mood. She has on these pink boots that she is in LOVE with. She constantly wants to put them on and take them off. She sits down, holds her feet out and says, “Off! Off! Off!” I decide to be funny and snatch them off her feet really fast because she thinks that stuff is funny. When I do, I pull her body towards me, she loses her balance, and smacks her head on the tile floor. Hard. I am a jerk.
2. While I’m facebooking on my phone, Darcy jumps on Clark and scratches his face, drawing blood. He still has the scab and I feel terrible because I am that distracted mom who is on the phone while her kid gets murdered in front of her face.
3. Well, this one involves a story…
After Darcy goes to bed, I generally retreat to the bathroom and take a nice long bath where I pretend to have zero responsibilities and google pressing matters like, “How tall was Marie Antoinette’s hair?” It’s a special time, y’all. Ben, however, has been studying like a mofo for his FE exam. This exam is basically his engineering license and enables him to work as an engineering intern when he graduates. Kinda important, and once Darcy goes to bed, Ben pops on his noise-cancelling headphones and hits the books. So, if Clark has needs (so dang needy) while I take my bath, Ben is occupied studying. SO, I nurse Clark to sleep, and I bring him in the rock and play into the bathroom with me. Cue, relaxation. Except Clark (needy booger), is not having it this night. Fussing, fussing, fussing. Totally killing the serene ambience I’m going for. I try to pacify him. He gags on the pacifier like it is 47 inches long and double-dipped in poison. I decide to just pull him into the bath with me because he loves a bath. It works! He’s happy, looking around, tra-la-la. I mean, I have to keep him from drowning, so my googling important things and general relaxing is kaput, but it’s a pretty sweet time. He makes these hilarious faces. Then he turns red. And KABLOOEY! The biggest poo of his life right in the bathwater–the bathwater I’m sitting in, naked. I screech, hit the drain, and quickly stand up with Clark. We have to vacate this warzone immediately. I mean, it’s basically a biohazard. I step out of the bathtub, immediately lose my balance, and slip. I manage to catch myself, but by doing so, I pull a muscle in my groin and apparently I clutch Clark’s belly too tightly. He responds to this assault by vomiting everywhere and screaming. Ugh, this is just the worst. “Ben!! HELP!,” I whisper-scream. Darcy is asleep. I do not want to make this worse by waking the beast. But Clark is already screaming so I join him and yell, “BEN! COME HELP ME NOW!!,” But you see, Ben has those noise-cancelling headphones on. He does not hear me practically drowning in Clark’s various bodily fluids, nor does he hear Clark screaming at his mother’s absolute failure. I wrap Clark in a towel and run out to the table where Ben is working. You should have seen his face. Wife, naked and covered in questionable fluids, thrusting a screaming, towel-wrapped baby into his hands. “Just. Take. Him. I’ll be back in a minute.” To his credit, Ben didn’t say anything at all other than, “Oookay.” I limped away and tried to reclaim my dignity of which is practically nonexistent at this point.

Lort, halp me. Send your angels to watch my kids when I am distracted and facebooking. Allow Clark to control his bowels when we are bathing together. Let me be serene-good-understanding-mom because I like her. Not sneezing-while-chewing-Wheaties-mom. She’s just sad.

So, let me hear it. Tell me about your ‘not funny at the time, but funny later’ stories! It makes me feel better when you are also the worst ever because I am not the bigger person who feels bad for you. I am the person who will laugh at your mistakes and let you laugh at mine. Laughter is everything, y’all. Don’t take everything so seriously. Love to all.