Punta Cana

The view from our room

6am wake-up, first day, every day… that’s 5am St. Louis time, peeps.

Knowing how exhausted we would be from the ordeal of selling our house, moving, unpacking, and settling into a completely new lifestyle in a completely new city (and not yet knowing just how exhausting the whole ordeal would actually be), Andrew planned a week-long getaway to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Months ago, we prepped by getting the kids passports and paying for an all-inclusive kid-friendly resort with the points from our credit card which we had never cashed in on… until now. Now, those of you who know Andrew know that he is NOT the all-inclusive resort-y type, rather the one-backpack-fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-wear-the-same-shirt-for-a-week-straight-stay-where-you-collapse-eat-when-you-get-the-chance ADVENTURE (!) kind of guy. And those of you who know me know I would rather NOT drag two kids all around a foreign country without some sort of a plan. That would equal daily tears for me. I also occasionally like to take a break from cooking the healthy, sometimes elaborate meals for my ever-so-lovely family, because, as much as I love the amount of time I create in the kitchen, there comes a time when one must sit. And just eat. And then eat some more. And not clean up afterward.

So, resort.

And, aside from the daily reminders of just what one means by the phrase “Ugly American” (“If Ah wanna remember that gah’s name, Ah just think-a Ponderosa!”*), it was abso-cheese-o-lutely perfect! Think, flexible mealtimes, not having to carry any money with you anywhere, train rides from one side of the enormous resort to the other, swim-up pool bars with as many fruity drinks as you could possibly consume without going into a sugar-coma, really really fat hairy people in tiny bathing suits with very bad sunburns, the beach right outside our window, a kid-friendly swimming pool, and, of course…..

The Caribbean

We went during rainy season, which was a bit of a worry at first, but it turned out to be a blessing. It rained every night, cleared up by early morning, then became cloudy and stormy (sometimes only raining for a minute or two before passing to leave behind beautiful blue skies) just in time for the kids’ afternoon nap. Also forced me to stay out of the sun for a few hours, which was essential. I apparently no longer tan as easily as I used to and my sea biscuits were burnt to a crisp after lying on my belly for 45 minutes one morning. Burnt buns were the worst of it. No one got sick or hurt, too tired or crabby.

And though I might look crabby in the above picture, I am merely concentrating on not exposing my breast to all of the blogging world as I nurse my enormous baby in public. Go ahead. Try to find the boob. You won’t find it. I’m that good. And yeah, still nursing. Woot.

Well, I guess there were a few crabby moments. Mainly on the airplane ride (4 hours, nonstop flight… is it really too much to ask for you both to sit still quietly with your hands folded on your laps while Pop and I read trashy magazines? REALLY?), and moments at the forefront of the trip before I had figured out how to get Oliver to sleep in the carrier to the sound of the crashing waves while I relaxed in a beach chair with him asleep on my chest as Andrew and Milo built intricate sea monsters out of sand, dug 3-foot-deep holes, and battled waves. But after the first full day? Cake. Smooth, velvety chocolate cake.

Almost nap-time/rain time

And of course, what vacation is complete without the action shots of a certain budding trickster:

And the thoughtful one:

“Who am I?”

Our daily routine: breakfast, beach, pool, lunch, bath/TV, nap, beach, dinner, bath/TV, bed. With a few extras thrown in for fun. Say, a train ride to a different pool? An extra pool-beach-pool? A cocktail before dinner? Flamingo and peacock watching? Red drank?

This mama doesn’t clean or clean up when it’s time to vacate. And see? Everybody’s still happy.

Too much fun, I guess.

Just WAY too much fun.