The Calm Before the Storm
Corey and I usually try to go on vacation in the early spring before Galleria Marchetti gets really busy in the spring, summer, and fall. Last year we went to Puerta Vallarta with our good friend and designer Steffanie Danby and her family. We adventurously brought our twin 5 month old boys last year to Mexico. Let’s just say it was a working vacation. I don’t care what anyone says, childcare is the hardest job in the world. I’m sure I’ll look back on it and say that it is also the most rewarding job, but for now let’s just stick with hardest. This year, we left our now 18 month old boys home with their adoring grandmother and headed to Riviera Maya in Mexico for a relaxing five days. The above three photos exemplify why all of us who live in Chicago are clearly insane.
Anyway, while there was a lot of laying around on the beach and drinking margaritas, I still did manage to do some work, much to Corey’s chagrin. Being your own boss means you get to make your own hours, but it also means your boss is a jerk who expects you to still be on duty at night and even when you’re on vacation. And when that happens, Corey doesn’t like my boss very much.
On this trip we stayed at a really nice resort, which unfortunately for our finances has been a nasty habit of ours over the years. When I was growing up, my father never wanted to stay at resorts, especially the really nice ones. He would constantly complain about how much they overcharged for food and beverage. Now that I manage a property myself, I can understand why they charge what they charge. You’re not paying for the food and beverage–you’re paying for the high rent and the beautiful facilities. I might actually be too understanding of their prices for my own good. That’s my problem. My father’s problem was that although he didn’t want to pay for first class service and accommodations, he nevertheless had first class taste. So a vacation with him, if you could even call it that, entailed starting at a cheaper hotel after listening to him rant about how we weren’t going to be suckers who stayed at the best places, then listening to him rant about the place he had forced upon us, and then ultimately moving to the 1st class place that he said was for suckers and that he swore we would never stay. This wouldn’t be as ridiculous as it was if it only happened once. But it didn’t. It happened every time he took me anywhere. The result of this upbringing is that I now go for the best places just to avoid reliving the drama of traveling with my father. Let’s just call my vacations corrective, albeit expensive, experiences.