Aloha -- Which Means Both Hello and Good-Bye

I should be waking up this morning in Hawaii, listening to palm tree fronds shush in the wind and ocean waves pound the lava shore.

Instead, I’m sitting at my kitchen table, which is strewn with half-empty cereal bowls, watching the largest snowflakes I’ve ever seen – seriously, they are about ½-inch diameter – fall gently on my deck, and I’m listening to the harmonious sounds of “Clifford: The Big Red Dog.”

Frankly, I couldn’t be happier.

Six years ago, when Corey and I moved back to the Midwest from our beloved San Diego, we promised each other we would take a mid-winter trip every year. Winter is long in Minnesota; usually, spring can’t get a toehold until April. We knew we would need a sanity check, a break in the madness. (We also knew we’d need to stop worrying about looking cool and start worrying about proper winter attire. But that’s another story.)

This year, we planned to go to Hawaii. Corey had accumulated enough Hilton Honors points for a six-night stay at a very nice resort on the Big Island. It sounded warm and tropical and sunny – everything Minnesota isn’t in January.

Since we had been to this particular resort before, we knew the fun that awaited us. We regaled the kids with details ever since July, when we made the reservations. “You can swim with these giant turtles in the lagoon! And there’s a high-speed tram to take you to the other side of the resort! And you can travel from pool to pool via waterslide! And did we mention it’s warm?”

But last week, as the day for our departure approached, reality caught up with me and took me down for the count.

I started to think about the time difference. Waikoloa is four hours behind Minnesota. That meant, if Teyla slept in until 7:00 AM – which, let’s be honest, she only does about once a month; normally she gets up between 6:00 and 6:30 – she would wake up ready for the day at 3:00 AM Hawaii time. Three. In the morning. On a good day. And I harbor no illusions that the darkness would stop her early wakenings, because it’s dark at our house until about 7:30 AM right now, and it doesn’t stop her at all.

I started to think about the flights that would get us to Hawaii. We were scheduled to fly from Minneapolis to Seattle (flight time – 3 hours, 49 minutes). We had a 2 hour layover in Seattle, before we departed for Maui (flight time – 5 hours, 53 minutes). After we arrived in Maui – at 11:30 PM our body time, I might add – we had an hour before our flight to Kona (flight time – only 48 minutes). Once we finally arrived on the Big Island, we would catch a cab to our resort, about 40 minutes away. After check-in, we would need to wait for a shuttle tram or boat to take us to our actual building. Door-to-door travel time? Something like 15 hours.

Oh! And all those flights were completely full (I checked), so Teyla – also known as the little girl who doesn’t even sit in her high chair to eat – would be sitting standing on my lap the entire time.

I started to think about how expensive Hawaii is. Our hotel stay was covered, and most of our airline tickets were purchased with frequent flier miles – this is the only time it’s nice to have a husband who travels – but food? We’d be paying. (And, just to give you an idea, the mediocre breakfast buffet at the resort is $30 for adults and $20 for children. That means we’d be paying $100 just for our family to eat a morning meal.) If we wanted to sight see, we’d be paying to rent a car (and paying a resort fee to park it). If Corey and I wanted to do anything by ourselves – we love to SCUBA dive, for example – we’d have to pay to put the kids in the kids’ camp and pay to join a SCUBA charter. If we wanted to use beach toys, we’d have to rent them. If we wanted to check our e-mail, we’d have to pay for the Internet. If we wanted to breathe, I’m pretty sure we’d have to cough up a dollar for air.

In other words, even with the majority of the costs covered, it was still going to be an expensive vacation.

All these thoughts swarmed together and left me with a pit in my stomach. I tried to console myself by constantly looking at the Waikoloa weather. (“OK, so it’s -18 outside my front door right now, and in Waikoloa? It’s sunny and 78. How can you say no to that?”) I reminded myself that the kids have been looking forward to this trip for six months already, and to deny them this would be crueler than sending the Christmas dog back to the shelter. (Whoops. Haven’t told you that story yet, have I?) I told myself Corey would be frustrated beyond frustration if I tried to break into his thoughts now and suggest this trip might be a teensy bit too much work.

But on Wednesday night, as Corey and I were hanging out in the kitchen, I couldn’t stop myself from testing the waters.

“So, you know this trip on Saturday. Are we sure we want to do this?”

(Notice my use of the royal “we.”)

“Why?” he asked, eyeing me calmly. “Are you having second thoughts?”

(Corey isn’t royal.)

“Yeah,” I answered nervously, hoping my voice didn’t stray into panic. “Yeah, I’m rethinking.”

To my shock, Corey replied, “Well, it doesn’t really matter to me where we go – as long as its someplace warm.”

That was that. We spent the next 90 minutes looking at cancellation policies, which weren’t severe, since we were using points to pay for everything. So we canceled.

And we’ve both heaved great sighs of relief heavenward ever since. Corey is so far behind at work right now, the thought of leaving for a whole week had him near tears. (Which is a joke, clearly, because Vulcans don't cry, but it made me smile.) I’m thrilled I have a whole week with nothing on the schedule. Maybe I'll have a chance to write. And the kids? They are giddy that they don’t have to leave home. (Well, Connor is anyway. He’s spooked by volcanoes – thanks Backyardigans! – so he's relieved we’re not taking him to the home of Kīlauea. Natalie is disappointed, naturally, but she's also highly distract.... hey, look! It's a new "Curious George" DVD!)

Best part? We’re still going to get the heck out of Dodge. We're just going to do it in February and go someplace much closer to home. (But no so close that it requires ear muffs.)

When I called my sister last Friday to tell her the news, my brother-in-law shouted in the background, "I'm disappointed in you, Kelly. I thought you were always up for a challenge."

He's right. Usually I am. Canceling this trip because it was going to be HARD is very uncharacteristic of me. Even now, part of me is growling "wimp" at the other part of me.

But I can't help but feel that, this time, I made the right call.