First of all, I feel the need to apologize. I always feel like I need to apologize for the fact that we went to Hawaii. Many people never get to go to Hawaii in their lifetime, and most don't think it will ever be in their future. Because of an every-other-year timeshare, we have been extremely fortunate to be able to join my family for a vacation on the island of Kauai not just once, but a handful of times. And yes, it is always during the most bitter part of January, so cold that they close schools even in Minnesota. So, I'm sorry. You have my permission to dislike me on any level you feel is appropriate. I would. The last vacation Michael and I had was three years ago, and the four of us have not been anywhere together except to Iowa. Just throwing that out there in case that helps you dislike me a little less.
The last time Michael and I were in Kauai, it was six years ago, I was pregnant with Oliver. This year, not only did we take Oliver with us, but Charlie as well. We knew that the long hours of travel would be difficult on all of us. We understood that sleeping schedules would be different, naps would be missed, and we held no expectation that Oliver and Charlie, at ages 5 and 3, would understand just how special a trip to Kauai is, and how very lucky they were to go. But in all honesty, we were a little taken aback at how difficult parenting was in paradise. I'll just say it: they were really cranky, much of the time. Whining, arguing, and Charlie of course was pushing his safety-testing boundaries almost constantly. It was absolutely exhausting.
We had several delays in flights which caused us to miss out on an entire day in Hawaii, needing to unexpectedly stay in LA overnight. For most of two days, we waited in lines and on chairs, walking up and down and up and down airport concourses. The first delay was so long that we actually rented a car from our own airport to come home to take a nap. So it's not surprising that Charlie was so restless on the six-hour leg of the flight. But I had packed so very thoughtfully, months in advance, with novel toys I knew he'd love, projects they had never seen before, and enough snacks last approximately one per hour. But Charlie would hold a new toy and whine for another one. He'd hold a snack, not eat it, and whimper that he was hungry. Nearly. The. Whole. Way.
I held onto the hope that in Hawaii, they would be thrilled to swim, outside, every day. But their flotation devices got lost in one of the three airports, and we didn't receive them until most of our week was through. We rented and purchased others, but they didn't work well and the boys weren't thrilled with being held in the water the entire time. At least, I thought, there was snorkeling. Oliver had been practicing in the pool at home for weeks and took to it easily right away. He was elated with anticipation to see colorful fish. But when he got in the ocean, he hated it. He didn't like the salty water and it stung his eyes (totally understandable). They went to the Koi pond at the resort to feed the fish, and were bored. They asked for their computers throughout the day.
I had visions of these boys being amazed at giant Hibiscus blooms, jumping up and down at seeing the spray from the whales off of our shore, searching for seashells, wanting to swim all day, being mesmerized by the immense waves at the Napali Coast. Everyone in my family talked about how excited they were to see Oliver and Charlie's reactions to seeing these things for the first time. Even if Hawaii has an infamously slower pace, there is more than enough novelty, enough color, enough sunshine, enough activities to capture even the littlest of travelers. Certainly, things will be different when we hopefully return in two years, when they are 5 and 7. The ages they are now are so sensitive to schedules, predictability, nutrition, sleep, and environment, that I have no doubt that major changes to all of those things for an entire week was just too much for them to be bouncing around with joy every day. And I know they had a good time despite their uncharacteristically indifferent moods. They, of course, whimpered that they wanted to stay in Hawaii when it was time to go home. When they are playing with airplanes or cars at home, they are always traveling to Hawaii. Oliver has told me with great excitement that we might get to go back someday. So I do think they had more fun than they let on.
We were able to fit in our own joy too, even on the tougher days with the boys. The kids and I went right out to the beach at sunrise almost every day, returning only after we had our fill of sun and the sand was filling our pajamas. I saw a monk seal, sea turtles, several whales, and we fed ice cream to a gheko. My sister and I floated in the water and made each other laugh until we almost peed in the pool. My Mom and I ate ice cream in a hammock by a waterfall. Michael, my Dad, and my brother in law hiked almost every day, including a mountain summit. We visited waterfalls, canyons, and drank coffee with hippies. Oliver, my sister, my parents and I went on a helicopter tour that took our breath away. Michael, my sister and I went for a 2-hour horseback ride that crossed sandbars, travelled across prairies and climbed in and out of woods. Oliver and the guys did a muddy 3-mile hike to a waterfall followed by kayaking down the river. So yes, it was still our Kauai, our slice of occasional paradise.
After our horseback ride, Michael asked our guide Devin, a 23-year-old native resident of Kauai, what he does for fun. He shrugged, and answered, "drink, cruise...hunt for pigs...not much else to do." What makes Kauai so set apart is its simplicity of living, in the setting of the most devastatingly stunning landscapes. There are 2 McDonalds, no Targets, one Walgreens, and one KMart on the entire island. The commercialism is scarce. When the sun sets, there aren't many forms of evening entertainment. Which is absolutely perfect for us when we're on vacation, but for young adults like Devin who have been born and raised on the island, I imagine it could be rather monotonous. It certainly doesn't have the novelty that it holds for us. Living in Hawaii is extremely expensive, with everything needing to be flown in. Several residents on the island have told us that they don't visit the mainland because the flights are so expensive. Even the flights between islands are quite pricey, and so they don't end up travelling much. Perhaps, even in Hawaii, the grass can be greener on the other side.
On my past trips to Kauai, I liked to close my eyes wherever I was and take in everything I could- the sounds of the waves, waterfalls, birds, and yes, roosters. The smell of sunscreen, wet sand, saltwater, and cut grass. The intensely warm sun on my face, the slight sway of the hammock, the beach towel beneath my head. On this trip, when I closed my eyes, the sounds were a little less peaceful, and a lot louder, coming from children. But instead of thinking about the stress that was added on this trip, I tried to think of it as a different kind of happy place. Because my new happy now includes my children, right beside me. On one of Charlie's exceptionally crabby days, I was trying to quietly take in a waterfall, and figure out how to get the best angle for a picture. Charlie came running to me with arms open, crying, whining, "Mommmmyyyyy!!!!" A tourist next to me looked at me and smiled. "It's nice to be wanted," she said. As irritated as I was feeling with my child, she was absolutely right. And when Charlie put his head down on my shoulder in full surrender, I hugged him back, knowing that this was as beautiful as the waterfall I was trying to see.
Usually on the last night of our trip, I get really surly. I really, really, really don't want to leave Kauai. But the hidden blessing in the parenting challenges of that week was that I was actually okay going back home, to routine, to predictability, to our own space, where our boys could thrive in normalcy again. I still took time to take it all in, and looked up at the sky a lot that night. When I was in the pool, I looked at the stars between the waving palm branches. I looked at them again as we drove to the airport, and immediately spotted Orion. We have a picture window in our house at the top of our stairs, and Orion shines through it, perfectly framed. I love that these same stars, that have travelled thousands of years just to reach our line of vision, connect us all together. They are glittering through my window right now as I write this, and in a few hours they will glitter over Devin's ranch some four thousand miles away, each of us dwelling exactly where we need to be.
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