“Moms can’t go to Mexico!” Brody (age 5) pleaded as I happily packed my rollerboard with clothes that only belonged to me. “Who is babysitting us?”
I explained to the frightened boy that when Dad was in charge it wasn’t considered “babysitting” and I assured him that four days would go by quickly. Unsatisfied with my answer, I then promised him a cool Mexican souvenir so he’d get off my back.
A delayed flight led to a missed connection, which led the airline to re-book us on the next flight – the next morning. Desperate to not spend the next 24 hours in Houston, my sister called our travel agent while we stood in the customer service line hoping for another option. The airline representative gave us two options:
- Accept a voucher for a $49 hotel room and $14 of airport food for a night in Houston and leave for Puerto Vallarta the next morning
- Take the next flight to Guadalajara, take a taxi to a big pimpin’ shuttle bus which would drive 2 hours to Puerto Vallarta, take another taxi and be at the hotel by 7:30pm
No brainer, right? If we chose #2, there would still be plenty of time for evening margaritas at the pool. While my excitement for option #2 grew, my sister was on the phone with the travel agent informing her of our new plan. The travel agent’s response went a little something like this, “BAD IDEA! BAD IDEA! Two clueless girls looking for a random shuttle bus in Guadalajara is a very bad idea. Please stay in Houston. Please.”
Due to our travel agent’s insistence, we stayed in Houston. We later found out that a bus ride from Guadalajara to Puerto Vallarta would be 4-5 hours and the condition of the bus would be the opposite of big pimpin’. Our friendly customer service rep. was messing with us. I know this because she said she was from Mexico and declared, “I take that trip all the time.” I’m pretty sure that her description of the “scenic, 2 hour trip on a luxurious bus” was enhanced, perhaps her method of entertaining herself while dealing with a line of frustrated travelers. Although I was grateful we made the right decision, disturbing thoughts kept floating through my head. I had convinced myself that the airline lady’s boyfriend was part of an organized drug cartel who would have been waiting for us at the airport to either: a) dismember us and shove us in an abandoned trunk or b) kidnap us and throw us into a life of forced prostitution. (Thoughts may be a result of my position in the Breaking Bad series).
Thoughts of our averted doom caused me to panic and compile the following list for my husband:
- Garbage day is on Tuesday
- Jack wears a retainer at night
- Leather belts must be removed from pants before going in the washer
- Clumps of chicken pot pie need to be rinsed off the plate before going into the dishwasher
- Don’t trust that the boys will brush their teeth on command- you have to watch them do it or it won’t happen
- They also need to floss- supervised as well
- If you don’t force Brody to take a shower, he never will
- Max will pretend he’s asleep when you check on him, but he will go on his iPad as soon as you walk away
- Brody can never go scuba diving because of the VSD (hole in his heart)
- Jack has a mole on the bottom of his foot- tell him to keep an eye on it throughout his life (moles on the bottom of the feet are rarely monitored- could’ve saved Bob Marley’s life)
- Please transfer my Nordstrom notes to my best friend Stacey so she can buy those swanky sunglasses and wear them at my memorial service
When the list was complete I was able to enjoy the flight to Mexico and make a huge dent in the longest book I ever read, The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. The book is beautifully dimensional, magically descriptive and also a reminder that shit happens so make your spouse a list of the things less obvious.
Ay Chiwowa! Maybe Moms shouldn’t be allowed to go to Mexico.
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