Today I finish almost a month of working 6 days a week. It has been both awesome and relaxing and seriously exhausting. If I'm not forgetting a pair of shoes or swimming lessons attire, it's a lunchbox or...you know...a child...ahem. Yes, yes, I am a parenting super hero, not.
#1 Hubby has seized on my depleted status, and chosen now to question a trip to Bali that was booked well over 6 months ago. Now, just under 2 month's until wheels-up, and he gets all doubting and suspicious about the exact nature of an "all-inclusive" holiday.
A few factors he is forgetting while
being a wanky smart ass ignoring my reassurances:
1. I used to be a Travel Agent. I sold this very hotel and package in the past, so I'm quite well versed with what is included.
2. I researched the shit out of it before I booked it, lest I miss a clause that sees the Feral Threesome ineligible for the Kids Club, and therefore requiring my parenting even while on holiday. Which would be a total cocktail inhibitor.
3. I have all the paperwork. I made all the bookings. I am the one who knows their shit, not him.
4. This is a deal to review the resort, The Grand Mirage in Nusa Dua. He should just be all ecstatic and WOO-FREAKING-HOO about being included in the deal. I could've easily bumped him off the list to stay home and look after the kids, and invited Brad Pitt and half of his clan instead.
5. I used to be a freaking Travel Agent. Who else would know about all-inclusive if not a Travel Agent?
So the other night I pulled out my paperwork and re-read what was included in our all-inclusive holiday.
It's all included.
I spent the remainder of the night surviving toilet training the twin tornado and refereeing crappy, over-tired kiddy disputes daydreaming about our upcoming :
- endless room service at all hours of the day and night
- a least 5 gourmet meals a day in each of the restaurants
- smugly depositing the Feral Threesome in the Kids Club every day to be appropriately entertained and educated beyond my own capacity - which really just means I'm an excellent parent for thinking of this, no?
- pillaging the mini bar nightly, so they can replenish it each morning when someone else comes to replace my towels, sweep the floor, clean the bathroom and put fresh sheets on my bed every single day, not just when they start to smell or I notice suspicious stains
- repeatedly making my way through the cocktail list while demanding the addition of little paper umbrellas and fruit garnishes where they are not provided
And all of this without putting my freshly manicured and massaged hand in my pocket.
I don't know if you can tell, but I'm just a wee bit excited.
So last night while reliving the horrors of every freaking night lately with the Feral Threesome, I jumped online to check out the hotel once again. To try and keep the excitement and the anticipation alive in the face of
adversity toilet training fails my usual everyday life.
The resort looked lovely, full of palm trees and a free-form swimming pool with enormous pool bar. Multiple restaurants and bars. White sandy beach dotted with sun lounges and umbrellas. The rooms looked lovely and spacious, but I couldn't place our room type. Which was strange.
No matter. I moved on to the most essential of all facilities after the swim up bar....the Kids Club.
Full of Ikea-esque furniture and toys and smiling staff who are quite likely better equipped to rear my children than I am. All suitable for ages 4 and up.
Wait a minute...four and up?!
The twin tornado are decidedly three. Not three going on four. Not three but passable for four so I could lie my way in.
A sense of panic set in.
I was beside myself.
The thought of having to go back to #1 Hubby and admit that I had missed something, that one crucial detail that was the most important of all...the image of his smug I TOLD YOU SO face, it was killing me. I'm not going to sugar coat it - I was about 10 seconds off a screaming, whining, thrashing tantrum to rival anything The Feral Threesome have ever produced.
And just when it seemed like all was lost....I realised I was looking at the wrong resort entirely.
Yes, I am that kinda stupid sometimes. But the good news is, I had enough of my marbles at the time of booking and negotiating to review the correct resort, to confirm that their Kids Club takes 2 year olds and up.
Praise the Vodka Gods!
A sense of calm returned to my person.
It's still 53 days away, not that I'm counting or anything, heh. For now, I'll just have to enjoy the smug glory of being all "in yo face!" and victorious with #1 Hubby.
Until then, please enjoy another gratuitous image of my future digs :
The Grand Mirage, Nusa Dua. Definitely not Parental Parody Palace, Perth. Or that other resort.