Icky

That's what this year has been for my 6th grader.  Icky.  While I remember my other three kids having the occasional issue around this age, I can't recall it being THIS protracted.  Seriously, this has gone on since the beginning of the school year.

Lest you think I am not aware of my kids' idiosyncrasies, and how they relate socially.  Don't.  I get it.  I especially get it with my youngest.  She's the one who has had the most freedom, mostly by virtue of being the youngest.  As parents, we are entering into the equivalent of "senioritis" with regard to parenting.  So, yes, we've been lax.  But I'll  be honest and say that I'm not sure exactly where or how that fits into her experiences this year.

She is at a 6th grade center.  ALL of town's 6th graders go to one school then next year they will be split up into one of two junior high schools.  I thought this would be a good thing as it would give her the opportunity to expand her friend base.  Up until this year, she had one friend, pretty much from birth, one really good friend from school and a couple of girls who were in a more popular clique where she would SOMETIMES be included, but that seemed to wane at the end of last year.

Within the first month of school the friend, from birth, apparently had taken up with a new friend and openly mocked my daughter on the bus, in earshot of other people but behind my daughter's back.  One of my middle daughter's friends, who had NO dog in the fight, passed on what happened and the middle daughter  texted me and said she was going to put a stop to it.  Now, given the contentious relationship my youngest two have, I actually saw her desire to stand up for her sister as a good thing but I also know that in confronting these girls, she would be seen as the aggressor  so I asked her not to.  Yeah, well, THAT didn't happen because as I have mentioned here, and here, and here, oh, and here, my kids don't always listen to me.  So, she confronted on the bus and said, "talk smack about my sister and you'll deal with me".  Is it actually possible to be horrified and proud at the same time?  No threat, just that she has her sister's back.  But here's the kicker (and you just KNOW this was coming right), first  they LIED flat out about mocking her, then they ran to the principal of the 6th grade center and reported my middle daughter for bullying.  And thus began my frequent visits to the principal's office.

LUCKILY, the principal is about the most awesome principal that there could ever be.  EVER.  He moved from the grade school my youngest three attended to the 6th grade center and I am well acquainted with how he works.  And as he has seen me volunteering frequently at the grade school, he knows I am an involved parent.  Which made this first meeting much easier than I would have expected.  We both put this down to a somewhat bad experience and hoped this would be the end of it.

Sadly...no.  Oh, it hasn't always been these same two girls.  And I'll be honest, some of this is on my daughter.  She wants to be in with the popular girls and simply put, they don't want her.  She's that kid who will do whatever they want of her, thinking it is her way "in" only to be disappointed over and over and over again.  And most of it has taken place out side of school.  She'll make plans with one of the girls only to find herself ditched while they all get together without her.  And I GET how she needs to own some of this, but some of this behavior is just plain ICKY.  Like calling a girl and having them pretend they don't know anyone by her name.  SERIOUSLY?  I'd have preferred that they had taken a much more honest but possibly brutal approach and said, "we just don't want to be friends with you".  BTDT.  I have the battle scars.  But it makes you evaluate what about them you were drawn to.  Was it popularity?  Was it common interests?  Or was it simply convenience.

My last trip to see the principal was the most harrowing.  We were back to the bus girls and apparently they had (all) been online with each other (KiK) and one asked my daughter if she considered suicide.  Then they brought it up on the bus.  THEN, oh so coincidentally, a note was left in my daughter's locker saying "kill yourself".  THAT.VERY.SAME.DAY.  She didn't take it to the principal, the principal just happened upon her when she found it and SAW her reaction.  You can't fake that.  Not the timing.  While the principal said he would investigate the note, discreetly, I said let's just see if this will go away on its own.  Then he brought up this point:  If HIS kid had placed the note in her locker, he would want to know.   I had to agree.

But I don't think most parents these days DO.  Want to know, that is.  I think most parents want to bury their heads in the sand about their kids' activities, which is why we have so many problems with this generation of children.  NO culpability.  Parents refusing to accept responsibility for their kids' actions.  HECK, parents refusing to accept that their kids MIGHT actually NOT be the little angels they think they are.  

No, I haven't heard anything further on the note although circumstances point to who is responsible.  For now, it's water under the bridge.

The next event was a sleepover with a newer friend.  The child got dropped off and the girls immediately hit the hot tub.  My husband came home and he took the girls to the Y so they could go swimming.  They were home for maybe half an hour when my daughter came to me in tears saying  her "friend" wants to go home because she's bored.  I was STUNNED.  Literally.  I had the girls come to the kitchen table and attempted to teach her friend how to play the card game golf, and while she played, she also spent the whole time texting.  I was never so glad to see a parent as I was to see hers, to get her out of my house.  The parent is lucky my husband was not there as he had some CHOICE words for the parent.

The latest incident with the youngest involved a birthday party she was invited to.  She came home on Wednesday with an invitation, written on notebook paper, for a sleepover on Friday night.  Of course, as a parent, the invitation was a giant red flag, but she assurred me that EVERYONE got their invitation on notebook paper.  But they got theirs earlier in the week.  I quelled that icky feeling in the pit of my stomach and said, yes, she could go.  Then Thursday she was told she was DISINVITED to the sleepover, although she could still come for the early part of the evening.  WHO.DOES.THAT?  And yes, this was "the popular" girls.  We found an alternative activity for her and she called and thanked the girl for her invitation but declined.

Seriously, it has been a whole year of this.  At conferences, I spoke to her teachers to see if THEY see some issue with her that I'm not seeing and they all seem somewhat baffled because she seems to get along well with most of her class mates.  Her biggest issue is that she is too concerned with what is going on around her (well, DUH) than she is with her school work.  But relationship wise, they don't see it.

And I don't know if a lot of what she is relaying to me that happens in school is exaggerated for my benefit (although truthfully, the only thing that I THINK is exaggerated is that ALL the boys at school hate her), or if that is how she actually perceives it.  Either way, it's not a good environment for her.

Now I'm struggling with what exactly are our options.  I've done a cursory look at some charter schools but the deadline for those that COULD work for us was in JANUARY.  For next year.  And I'm not sure if running away is the problem.  But this is such a tough time for kids this age.  I'd consider home schooling but I simply do not have the patience.  Yes, this is MY character flaw (one of a great many I assure you).  Plus, she is a child who CRAVES social interaction.  I don't think online opportunities would be a good solution for the same reason.   

So, yeah, this school year has been ICKY.  ICKY. ICKY. ICKY.

Goodbyes

Fifteen years ago today, I lost my mother to brain cancer.  It was a Wednesday (don't ask me why I remember the day) and we were all just headed out the door for dinner when the phone rang.  And I knew before I answered it.  Not because I was expecting it, but I just KNEW.  My world tilted as my sister relayed the news that the cancer on her brain stem had shut down all her involuntary reflexes, coupled with the radiation having destroyed her immune system. And she was gone.

Unfortunately, with most people who have cancer, you have to accept that losing them is a very real possibility, so it wouldn't be fair or accurate to say it was unexpected.  But her death was proceeded by a series of events that one would never choose (if you even could) but makes sense when you look back in retrospect.  I was pregnant, and due April 10.  I miscarried in early September.  My parents came out in October.  My mom's medical issues were identified in December, shortly after I became pregnant again.  In early January, my parents suffered through a horrific ice storm which knocked out power for a week (in upstate NY...in January) and caused massive damage.  The actual diagnosis of brain cancer didn't come until late January.  She went through radiation in February.  I flew home in mid March, helping my dad cope with the repercussions of the radiation.    My dad and I came up with a plan to get her eating and drinking (she was suffering dehydration). She seemed to bounce back and was excited about another grandchild (I was about 4 months along).  She had plans to do some crocheting for the baby.  When I left after a week, I thought things were going well.  My sister was due to arrive in another week and I thought my dad could cope in the interim.  When my sister arrived, things had taken a decided turn for the worse, the cancer was growing again and was radiation resistant.

Sometimes the game of "what if" is hard to avoid.  What if I hadn't miscarried?  Would I have been released from my Drs care to return to NY to spend that last week with her?  Would I have been able to attend her memorial 4 states away?  No one ever enjoys having to choose between equally horrific circumstances, so maybe there is a reason why we don't always have to.  If you're willing to dig for it.  To this day, I consider myself blessed.  Blessed that the series of events had allowed me to have that last week with my mom.  Where we were able to talk and plan and I cherish that time.  Deeply.

I actually gave the eulogy for my mom at 4 months pregnant and having traveled 900 miles by car to do so.  It wasn't easy either because my mom wasn't "typical".  Or maybe she wasn't what I would define as "typical".  My mom came from a kind of "git'er done" mentality that didn't really  reflect the Carol Brady persona I wanted her to be.  She was the type of person (with my dad) who let us make our own mistakes and forced us to live with the consequences.  They would tell us, "we will come and pick you up any time, any where.  Except jail" and I have to tell you, that sticks in the back of your mind when you are evaluating 'do I really want to'?  And not surprisingly NONE of us have ever gotten CLOSE to a jail.  Go figure.  With them, no meant no. I recall being hit once, at about 14, for being completely disrespectful and completely deserving it.  Mom was the type of person who nudged.  She nudged you in a direction and let you figure it out.  She was supportive in the way that a foundation of a house is supportive.  You know it's there, keeping things right, but you don't really pay heed to it.  And I think that's the way she wanted it.  I acknowledged all of that in my eulogy.  And I accepted that I am who I am because of who she was.  I think she would be proud.

So, goodbyes are never easy. Even when there expected.

Tomorrow I get to do it again.  This one has been scheduled for 3 months, so I knew it was coming.  My oldest and only son leaves for basic training for the Air National Guard tomorrow.  Lest you think that I am the least bit upset over him serving his country, don't.  And yes, he went away to college last fall without much ado, but this is different.  This is where I fully expect my son to become a man.  Fundamentally changed without my input.  That's HUGE.  He also is making a sacrifice.  He's taking time away from his education to do so, and with the sequester in progress, uncertain if the promises made to him for that sacrifice will be fulfilled.  I've explained to him that even if they do not come through with the tuition assistance that was promised, he still needs to look at his service from a character and integrity standpoint and be proud  to serve his country.  He understands and agrees.

Still, doing all the right things for all the right reasons doesn't make it any easier saying goodbye.  Yesterday in church, we've been in a series called Fearless and yesterday's message was on the Fear of Challenges.  The pastor spoke of fear and faith (the story of Peter stepping out of the boat at Jesus's command to walk on water).  When you fear, look to your faith.  Don't gaze at your circumstances and glance at God, but keep your gaze on God and glance at your circumstances.  Because with faith, God will handle your circumstances.  So that's what we did.

And now I'm holding onto Jeremiah 29:11:
^"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

So, tomorrow I'm going to paste a happy face on and drop my son off at the airport.  With my mom in my heart,   I'll say goodbye to him and hold onto the knowledge that I'll see him in 4 months.  And I'll keep my gaze on God.

Chrisapalooza 2013

This is gonna be a long one because I'm gonna cram 12 fun filled days of 'Palooza into one post, so if you need to take a potty break or grab a cup/pot of coffee, do so now.

I had this idea for the twelve days (given his birthday is on the twelfth) while I was down in the Dominican Republic and I thought I had enough ideas that I could round out the rest.  Yeah, well, there's always a weak link in a plan and that was mine.  First, I should have written them all down so I knew what I was doing and when and THEN worked around the thin spots.  Second, never, EVER count on "we ship immediately and you will receive within 5-7 business days", because, if you count on that, it ain't happening.  But, I perservered an YES...I made it to all 12 days.  Yeah, you can call some of the gifts "lame" or a stretch, but there was something.  Also, the Chrisapalooza notes are to be done to the cadence of the 12 days of Christmas.  I should get extra points for that.

So, onward.

Day one started out simple.  His favorite candy (and he's not a sweet guy): 50  Reeses Peanutbutter Cups.

Day two was a bit of a stretch.  I went with a Captain America (as memory served*, popular in the 1950s).

Day three was the movie 50/50, which we haven't seen, although a comedy about a guy dying might seem a little perverse, that's how we roll.

Day four was a 50 minute massage.  Yeah, I know people who know people.

Day five was fifty brussel sprouts.  Yeah, I know, that might seem lame, but he loves them and I rarely make them (HOWEVAH...I happened to find a recipe for them roasted with bacon and toasted pecans in a maple/balsamic vinegar glaze....YUM).

Day six (and only halfway there...surely you grasp that this was no easy task by now) was 50 minutes at an indoor (HELLO?  It's MN. It's WINTER) golf range.

Day seven I proved my purchasing prowess by setting a goal of not spending more than $50.  And for that $50 I was able to procure 5 new sweaters for casual wear that he can pair with his new "boy jeans".  LOVE Macy's and Herbergers clearance racks.  Just sayin'.

 Day eight had me doing the scramble.  Because that gift I had ordered from online with "assurance" it would be there in time, wasn't. So, recalling a recent conversation regarding the "best coney island dogs EVAH" and the friends who suggested that we add this to our bucket list, and the opportunity to add it and cross it off in one swell foop...well, that was a no brainer.

 THIS was the bonus though...like coming home.

 And yes.  They were the "Best Fu@kin' Coney Island's in Town".

Day nine involved a trip to the meat counter, some stunned looks on butcher's faces, the "a--ha" moment when they GOT what I wanted.  A cut to order 50 oz piece of top sirloin.  Oh, they delivered.

We wrapped up Day nine and Day five in one evening.

Day ten was a "want" and I couldn't figure out how to relate it to 50.  So I didn't.  He wanted a running watch.  Ask and ye shall receive.

Day eleven involved some clandestine phone calls to the in-laws in search of pictures from his first 25 years.  I was able to come up with the last 25 years.  They delivered.  And I delivered.  50 years of pictures of HIM. (And I'll be honest...I think this is THE BEST one because, at least for the last 25 or so, I managed to hit most of the highlights of those years.  Marriage, kids, vacations, things he LOVES to do, boating...)

And finally, Day twelve.  The big one.

You are welcome to count, but yes, there are 50 bottles of wine there.  Many we've had, many are new.  I don't expect they'll last very long.  But that's what there here for, right?

We finished off Chrisapalooza by attending the All Night Grad Party's Wine Tasting, which was a fitting end.

Seriously though, I'm spent.  That was WAY more difficult than I envisioned it would be (as I was sitting on a beach in DR drinking my rum and coke).  I'm glad I pulled it off though.  Ideas are always the easy part, it's the follow-through that is work.

*memory=that of someone who wasn't there then, nor had any interest until the movie Avengers, probably isn't the most reliable.  So you can call it a stretch.  I did.

Fear

*Thank-you God...message heard and processed*

Fear is an emotional response to a real or imagined danger

This is one of those posts that I've been thinking about for a couple weeks but wasn't quite sure how to go about writing about it.  Then last night, it was like a giant hand reached down from heaven and slapped me, HARD (really that wasn't necessary), and made me realize that it was time for action.

Three weeks ago I was in the Dominican Republic with a friend to celebrate our birthdays which are about a month apart.  It was a big one for both of us (no, I am STILL not ready to say it).  She didn't want to be anywhere near her home town on her birthday because she didn't really want ANYONE calling attention to it.  And I'll say it...smart girl.

Anyway, while we were there, the opportunity presented itself for us to go SCUBA diving.  Now, a small amount of back history on that.  We both became Padi certified in the late 80s after we graduated from college.  We took classes and our certification involved us walking in to the water in Monterey Bay from the shore (which I think is important).  We dove several more times in the same location, always walking in from shore.

In 1989, I decided to go to Australia. Actually I decided in 1988 but it took me that long to plan it.  I went on my own (a HUGE step for me) and spent 5 glorious weeks (one in New Zealand and 4 in Australia) doing and seeing exactly what I wanted without having to answer to anyone.  Part of my trip included a 10 day diving expedition on a 100 foot live aboard Catamaran, the SuperSport, which at that time was new standard for live aboard diving.  On one of the first dives of the expedition, I had an "unfortunate experience".  Probably due to my anxiety of diving from a boat, which I had never done before vs walking in from shore.  I suspect I was overly anxious and was breathing heavily, thus using my oxygen at a faster rate.  When I looked at my dive gauge, I was in the red AND at 80ft depth.  So, I motioned to the divemaster the dilemma and we ascended as required with safety stops.  When I got to the surface, still with air (although WAY low), I spit out my regulator and grabbed my snorkel and did the unthinkable.  I took a giant lung full of 80+ degree seawater.  A dinghy was dispatched and I was picked up and I spent the ride back to the boat hung over the side trying to rid myself of all that seawater.  There was a Dr on board, who listened to my lungs and said that he could hear a bit of water still there so a message was sent to shore to send a seaplane to get me.  Then 12 hours passed.  And I was fine.  And there was no more rattling.  And the seaplane was still coming.  And 12 more hours passed.  At this point I started asking if I could just stay aboard and not dive.  I was told no.  Then 12 more hours passed and I was getting pissed.  I was physically fine and I was NOT looking forward not just to the cost of the sea plane (if and when it decided to come out and get me) but the additional cost that staying in Cairns an added cost I hadn't budgeted for as I had PAID in advance for the 10 days on the live aboard and my flight didn't leave for another 8 days.  I finally did talk the captain (after 36 hours, no health issues and NO sea plane in sight)  into allowing me to stay onboard for the duration of the trip.  I snorkeled, I rowed, I came back with the BEST tan of my life.  I was disappointed about not diving again but resigned.

Fast forward 2 years.  I'm in Jamaica with my would be husband and we have the opportunity to dive.  He does his pool certification and we go out on a small boat.  And as I'm descending, that same anxiety hits me.  And I panic.  The divemaster ended up working with me in the descend and once I was at the bottom, I was fine.  No other issues occurred.

Now, put fast forward into hyper speed to 2013.  My friend asked me if I wanted to dive.  I KNEW the issues I had faced and KNEW that I needed to work through them. But LORD was I ever fearful.  We went through a pool refresher course and I knew immediately that I was going to have issues, but I got through those and we set our dive date for the next morning.  I secretly hoped that the surf, which had been pretty rough up until then, would prevent us from going out but as luck would have it, it didn't (another sign?).  I told the divemaster of my fear/anxiety and he promised to work with me, so off we went.  And sure enough, as we were hanging onto the anchor line preparing to descend, panic hit and I was sure I couldn't do it.  He "walked" me down foot by foot until I was kneeling on the bottom of the ocean in about 30 ft of water.  Once there, I was good.  No, I was great.  I saw things I never expected to see:  a moray eel, a rock fish, an octopus, spiny shrimp, and more.  It was AWESOME and I am so glad I faced that fear.  The question is, if I attempt to SCUBA dive again, will I face the same fear?  THAT I don't know.

This is all related because when I came back from the DR, my first Sunday back started a new series at church:  Fearless:  Why Are We Afraid?  SERIOUSLY? (tell me that He doesn't give signs)  And while the pastors at our service related their fear of skydiving, I could TOTALLY relate.

So, my actual birthday is on Friday. (Believe it or not, this all DOES relate).  And now I get why my friend didn't want to be in town for hers.  I've never had to worry about being the center of attention for my birthday because it's never been an issue coming on the heels of Chrisapalooza (stay tuned, more coming on that in later posts). And if I wasn't in town, it wouldn't be an issue...the day, like every Ides of March, would just quietly fade away into the past.  But I am in town.  And I am somewhat fearful that the day will be  "remembered". Not only am I not used to being at the center of attention, this isn't a year in which I particularly want to celebrate.  Ten years ago, I could look in the mirror and not see the blatant manifestation of time marching on, but now, 10 years later, HOLY CRAP, it's like time is wearing golf spikes...and pounding down those divets with gusto.  I see the deep ridges in my forehead where I am prone to raise my eyebrows at my kids, coupled with the ridge over my left eye which is very likely a result of the same maneuver.  I see the deep wrinkles around my eyes when I smile, indicating that, yes, sunglasses ARE a good thing and I should have taken better care to wear them when I was younger.  Learn Grasshopper...learn from my mistakes.

My point is that in the past I could somewhat fool myself into thinking I wasn't REALLY that old because I didn't (think I) looked it.  Now I do, although I don't really feel it.    And that is probably vanity speaking.  I wish I could say that the arrival of the first literature from AARP was disheartening but I somehow got on THAT list 10 years ago so that was nothing new.  I have also been thinking about aging in terms of where I am. I have a great husband with whom I have spent 20 glorious (even if also long drawn out soul shattering )years.  I have 4 healthy, smart (although some choose not to always exercise their grey matter) beautiful children.  I have a house I love.   I also have a BS in Applied Mathematics from Purdue University, with 10 years experience in the world of Information Technology who can't get a job because I've been home, being a SAHM, which was the best choice for us at the time but I don't think my kids fully comprehend the sacrifice that was for me.  All they grasp is that they don't have the latest jeans, phone or car.  My retirement account between unexpected  expenses and the market crashing has taken quite a hit, but there is still SOMETHING there, which I guess I can count that amongst my many blessings.

But fifty is hard.  There.  I said it.  Maybe it's because the actual number can be expressed in so many ways.  Half a century.  Yeah.  That's my "favorite".  Or 5 decades.  Not quite as painful, but still.  Closer to retirement than you are to the legal drinking age.  I like that one.  But, I think it's the inevitable "over the hill" jokes that mock that which you are incapable of controlling that probably have me the most fearful.  Partly because there's some truth to them.  Partly because there's always someone who feels the need to validate that which you are trying to deny.

Which brings me back to the Fearless series from church.  I think I need to concentrate on a verse from the first service in the series:  Psalm 56:3-4

Whenever I am afraid, 

I will trust in You. 

In God (I will praise His word),
In God I have put my trust;
I will not fear.

The Good Book always seems to have the right answers.  

 

And So It Begins

Yesterday kicked off the first of the twelve days of Chrisapalooza.  For those of you not familiar with the yearly event, I suggest that you go here...and here ...and here.  Ah, but this year, well, this year is a BIG one.  I'll leave you to figure out WHICH big one.  And in so celebrating the "BIG one", I have decided to do a play on the 12 days of Christmas.

Behold...on the First Day of Chrisapalooza, his true love gave to him...

And so it begins...

Um....No

I'll give fair warning, while this will be a short post, the topic is somewhat unsavory and more often times heard in Kindergarten than the subject of blog posts.  But, honestly, I can't let the one go.  You're free to move along, having had fair warning.

So, arriving in  my hotel room in the Dominican Republic, I was greeted with the following sign:

It was next to every toilet I used in the DR.  At first glance, I assumed that it was directed towards feminine hygiene products and I COMPLETELY understand that.  But on further reflection (and upon seeing a similar sign that appeared to give much more detailed instructions), I really think that the sign is exactly what it indicates:  NO Paper is to go in the toilet.

Now, not typically a rule breaker, I chose to make a 5 day long exception in this case.

Because....ew.

Back to Reality

Yes, I'm home.  The remainder of the trip proceeded as planned.  Well, with the exception of arriving at our room after midnight when my friend wasn't expecting me before 4 the next afternoon.  So, I'm probably lucky I wasn't cold-cocked when I let myself in.

Turns out, we weren't staying in Puerto Plata, but in Sosua which was just east of Puerto Plata.  The trip across the mountain in a van filled with 5 of the 18 who missed our connection was a bit harrowing.  More so because the chief method of transportation in the Dominican Republic is motorbikes/cycles.  And apparently there are no rules with them.  Like....even...lights are not necessarily required.  Or.....3 people per cycle is JUST fine.  Helmets?  Pftttt....I'm not sure there's a helmet in all of the DR.  So, driving along curvy barely paved unlit mountain roads at 11 pm, one needed to look carefully for motorcycles/bikes traveling along the side of the road.  We arrived in Puerto Plata, where the other 4 people were getting dropped off around 11 and I had to get to Sosua, which I thought was only about 12 miles but ended up being a good 40 minutes away.  I was a tad concerned given : I was alone, I had NO IDEA where the Casa Marina Reef was except somewhere in Sosua, I didn't speak ANY Spanish and the two drivers didn't speak ANY English, and, if worse came to worse, I had NO IDEA if 911 is universal.  As you can see, unfounded fears.

So, Monday we hit the beach.  Hard.  With probably the absolute most brilliant idea I have ever had (which I will give credit where credit is due...I read Trip Advisor and took their advice).. I bought and brought 2 of these:

2 24 oz double walled insulated hot/cold cups.  They had lids, straws (that had to be removed from the bottom of the lid which made them difficult to lose) and a hole on top that one could easily sip coffee out of if one was of a mind.  I got them in different colors and designs.  We would go to the bar and they would fill completely with ice (instead of the 8 oz plastic cups that one lived in fear that just a gentle squeeze would crush the cup and spill the contents) and drink of choice.  This week it was rum and coke (diet).  The drink would stay cold and last for 2 hours and there would STILL be ice left in the cup.  This cup will henceforth accompany me on ALL warm weather trips.

The bar, as luck would have it, was about 20 feet from our patio door.  NOT that we needed to make many trips as...we had the cups!  Seriously...THIS is how close it was:

That was to the right out our door.  To the left this was the view:

 
We had two beaches to choose from.  One was larger and required traveling down a long wooden staircase where the rise of the steps was not consistent but the beach area was much calmer.

The second beach was a few short steps from the bar and was more of a bay-ish area surrounded on both sides by large coral reefs.  The water was quite a bit more turbulent, but we chose to lite there anyway.  Um...convenience.

The water was absolutely AMAZING.  You could go out up to your shoulders, look down, have a swell lift you 2 feet out off the botom and you could STILL not only see the bottom clearly but count your toes as well.  Not a SPECK of seaweed.

In between the two beaches were 3 cool water Jacuzzi tubs that had been built into the coral reef.

And off to the west one could see the mountains of Haiti:

There were 3 specialty restaurants on site and we made it a point to eat at each one, while trying the buffet one night.  The buffet was probably a step lower than any of the previous all inclusive buffets I have been to, but still adequate.  The specialty restaurants were very good.  I had sea bass at the seafood restaurant and was surprised at the size of the portion of sea bass I received.  It was very well prepared.  I had a pork filet at the Italian restaurant that was good flavored but not very tender (and I found this to be true of all the pork I had at the hotel).  At the Mexican restaurant I had a chicken filet that was wonderful.  The snack bar needed work.  French fries need to be crisp not soggy.  They had burgers and pizza made from naan which was unusual (not your typical pizza sauce).

We spent the 4.5 days on the beach, soaking up sun and catching up on 16 years of life.  My kids asked me if there were any awkward moments given that it had been so many years since my friend and I had been together and really there weren't.  We fell right back into our friendship of 25 years ago.

And really, how cool is that?