galapagos-islands | Good Times with Jess

T-minus a few days until we leave for Ecuador and the Galápagos! I’ve only been daydreaming about going there for the last 30 years.

We’re going carry-on only aside from one checked bag with snorkel gear and life vests.

I am not taking RB’s music machine that has previously been carted around to Disney World, Alaska, Canada, and every corner of New England. It’s the size and weight of a small child. Plus no one but RB wants to hear a lullaby medley blasted at 3am.

The dreaded music machine in action at Disney

The dilemma has always been, what if she can’t sleep?

There are a couple things that make me feel ok about this: We’ve been practicing sleeping at home without it and she will be in a different hotel room than me.

You’re right, mainly the different hotel room part.

Meanwhile at home my bedroom is not known for its minimalism and right now, as it serves as the staging area for our trip, it looks like an out of control return center.

It is one big pile of chargers, battery packs, water purifier, water bottles, backpacks, snorkel masks, snacks, layers, go pro, go pro accessories, toiletries, hiking sandals, books, toys, hats, money, iPads and altitude sickness medication (which has very similar side affects as altitude sickness).

The kids only get their iPads for LONG trips or school work. So RB hasn’t had her hands on hers since this past summer.

RB might end up living on Ritz cheese crackers. She asked me,

“Are you taking my breakfast cereal and my dinner cereal along?”

There are different cereals for each meal. I give her the bad news,

“No. I’m taking cheese crackers and that’s it.”

No music machine and no cereal. I will let you know if I live to regret these choices.

First stop is a few days in Quito, Ecuador, 9,350 feet above sea level. Then eleven days island hopping for snorkeling, hiking, exploring, relaxing, sleeping without my children.

I don’t want to count my good times before they happen. I do feel desperate to travel the world with my kiddos, but no one needs to spend every second with them.

Although Captain might. He has more concerns than I realized. He asks,

“So there are lots of seals?”

“Yes! Babies too! They might swim with us!”

I’m glad he’s getting excited. Or maybe I have enough excitement for both of us. He asks,

“And there are sharks?”

“Yes! 32 species!”

“And RB is snorkeling?”

“Yes!”

“Doesn’t she look like a baby seal?”

Oh. I see where this is going. I agree, she looks delicious.

If RB looks like a baby seal, then Captain is just going to have to grow out his whiskers and play the part of protective papa seal if he wants. Because if we see a hammerhead shark, I’m not reaching for RB, I’m reaching for my go pro.

BB is all in. She has a reading log for school and last week it looked like this:

Tuesday: Galápagos Itinerary
Wednesday: Galápagos Itinerary
Thursday: Galápagos Itinerary

BB yells to me from the bathroom,

“This itinerary is long!”

It is! It’s going to be an action packed two weeks.

I was relieved to hear RB say,

“I’m so excited for the Galápagos too!”

“You are?!” I’m so excited and even more excited now that everyone else is excited. RB adds,

“I’m so excited to get my iPad on the airplane!”

“Oh.”

“I get my iPad on the plane right?”

Yes. Yes you do my little baby seal.

And it goes without saying, but I am going to say it. If you’re looking for a trip to the Galápagos, I’ll be ready to help you plan it. Might I recommend taking a small child along to distract the sharks?

I won’t be looking quite as sexy this time around. I was much younger here.

It’s the final days of school and countdown to beach camp.

My two campers are ready. We’re stocked up on sunscreen, bathing suits and snacks. We’ve added a sloth float to our pile of beach gear because that’s both of my children’s favorite animal.

BB has long loved the sloth for whatever usual reasons people pick favorite animals. Then in the car the other day RB told me,

“The sloth is my favorite animal.”

“Really?? Since when?”

“Since it was BB’s favorite.”

Right.

In 2025 we’re headed to the Galapagos. This has been a bucket-list trip for me since elementary school when they showed us the underwater robots exploring there.

Fifteen years ago as I roamed around South America I counted my dollars. I could travel South America for four months or I could use the same money for one week in the Galapagos.

I chose four months, but held out hope that someday I’d be back. And as we continue to destroy our planet, it seems like the sooner the better for this trip.

It will be in honor of Captain and my ten-year-wedding anniversary. Yes we’re bringing the kids.

There are no sloths in the Galapagos, but there ARE sloths in the Ecuadorian rainforest. I hadn’t planned on going there in addition to the Galapagos, but considering we’ll only be a few hours away when we fly in to Quito I contemplated it. I asked our Ecuadorian travel agent. She told me,

“I’ve been working in tourism and visiting the rainforest for ten years. I have only ever seen a sloth in the wild once.”

Ok. Nix that. Maybe my children would like to consider blue footed boobies as their new favorite animal. I’m sure there’s a corresponding beach float.

RB has an extra week of school that BB doesn’t have. The same thing happened last year and I pulled RB out early to get to the beach. As much as I want to be in my lounge chair with a book, I’m having a hard time figuring out why I would miss out on several days of RB being in school.

Once BOTH kids are out of school, I’ll be in my lounge chair, with my book, counting the paragraphs before they start World War III.

No matter what we do, they will find something to fight about. But the total and complete hopelessness of it was brought home to me a couple weeks ago.

We were at a playground covered with standard-issue wood chips. Thousands and thousands of wood chips. Not as many as grains of sand on the beach, but close enough.

I was head down in my book. I heard some screeching. I kept my head down. The shouting escalated. I peered over the top of my book. Then a blood-curdling yell from one of my beloved children.

I called them over. BB thrust her hand at me. In her palm was one of the MANY wood chips. RB whined,

“BB won’t share her wood chip!”

I looked at BB. She shrugged.

I told RB,

“Go find another wood chip.”

“NOOOOOO I want THAT one.”

I asked BB,

“Can you share that wood chip?”

“But I’m the one who found the most perfect wood chip.”

Of course.

All BB would have to do is declare any other one of the thousands of wood chips “the most perfect wood chip” and RB would want that one. But how to telepathically relay this?

I tell them,

“You have one more chance to figure this out.”

You don’t need me to tell you they did NOT figure it out. I took the wood chip and put it in my pocket. They both lost their minds.

I told them,

“We can leave or you can go play.”

They went to play.

If you’re wondering what happened to “the most perfect wood chip” that everyone forgot about. It is well laundered and living its best life indistinguishable from all the other treasures in my yard.

Here’s to finding the most perfect grain of sand and keeping it all for myself.

I’m ready to beach. May the best person win.