“Shawn, there’s only three passports.”
Oh man. This was my fault. I was in charge of putting the documents where they needed to be–why on earth would anyone put me in charge of that?!
My hands blindly searched the bag where three out of four passports were tucked away–it had to be here. A few seconds later our undies were scattered out in the middle of the Frontier Airline to Cancun line at Lambert Airport as our Apple travel representative nicely reminded me to stay calm.
“Now, why don’t we just step over here and you can continue to look,” she said, which I knew meant get those polka dotted granny panties (yes–that’s right, I am 37 and I like ’em high waisted) off the floor.
As we continued to dig through our bags at the little coffee bar area, which was closed because it was 4:30am, Shawn caught a shuttle back to Pear Tree Inn where we’d stayed last night to check our room and the Jeep. Meanwhile my parents were put on high alert and Dad was on his way to make sure we didn’t leave it two hours away at home, and if that was the case—well, we were done for.
For months my phone screen counted down to this very day, and I would randomly shout “46 days, 6.57 weeks, 1,104 hours, 66,240 minutes, and 3,974,400 seconds!” and everyone would respond “woohoo!”
And now–thanks to me–it was probably off.
Each shuttle that pulled up in front of the sliding glass doors let off a load of people who weren’t Shawn. My phone flashed 5am, nearing the two hour before flight suggestion issued by the airport; if we weren’t on our plane by 7:30am it would fly to the Caribbean without us.
My phone was silent; still no word from Dad. I sat down with my head in my hands.
“I am so sorry,” I said only to Connor because Logan was on his third strawberry Poptart and I think he was already on vacation.
“It wasn’t your fault (oh but it was, dear boy) and I love you no matter what,” my nine year old bit his lip and hugged me tight. No matter if we ended up back home or on a plane to Mexico, at least I knew my little boy didn’t hate me.
Logan pointed across the room where Shawn stood in the middle of a buzzing airport, grinning, with one arm waving a passport over his head. It was in the jeep in between the passenger seat and the middle console (which I must’ve dropped when taking them out of the glove compartment and putting into the bag).
And since he was too relieved to kill me, the trip was back on.
The Duncan’s were going to Mexico!
A Date With God
Only hours later we were surrounded by the Riviera Maya, and the palm trees at the Grand Sunset Princess we’d been looking at on You Tube since March. Since we couldn’t take residence of our room for another two hours so we went to the buffet and then wandered around the resort. Iguanas, coates (a Mexican racoon) and one capybara (an oddly large guinea pig), ran free with signs posted all around the perfectly kept grounds warning people that the area was a declared wildlife sanctuary.
Each step, though, was one closer to the reason I came here. The tropical breeze in my face and suddenly I tasted it on the tip of my tongue: salt.
It was all worth it–all the planning, saving, and spreading my laundry all over the coffee shop at the St. Louis airport, was worth it–the moment we walked over a wooden bridge and sank our bare feet into the white sand.
Fully clothed, I waded into the deep blue sea. Knee deep in creation, the Caribbean waters crashed and washed over me in a perfect display of God’s power and glory. Thanking him for our safety and of the activities in the days to come, I spread my arms wide open in praise. I knew this was going to be the vacation of a lifetime.
And that’s when the rain started to pour.
Come back next Friday for part 2 of this series. From Connor’s first kiss with a dolphin named LuLu, biking through the jungle in pursuit of the 2300 year old Mayan ruins, to Logan’s quest to teach Mexicans about root beer, it’s just about what you’d expect of a Duncan vacation.