Don’t get too excited

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.

I booked the Waikiki accommodation last night for our stopover on the way back from the World Skipping Championships. Finally pressing the “book” button came after many hours of searching and stressing, stressing and searching.

I ended up getting something on Air BnB because the hotel booking sites were so outrageously expensive and that’s before you pay the “resort fees” that they ping you for each day in Hawaii. I also figured getting a studio apartment would mean we could do a bit of self catering to keep costs down.

The studio is on a busy road, but looks out over a park to the (distant) ocean.

It’s not super flash, but it seems quite modern and is midway between the Ala Moana Shopping Centre and one of my favourite Waikiki beachside restaurants, Dukes.

I showed the youngest the photos of the studio and she was very whatever.

It was a bit of a kick in the teeth because I’m not the one who said they were desperate to go to Hawaii.

I’ve been plenty of times (that’s me with my mum on my first visit at age 21) and I’ve had my fill. I was doing it for her.

But teenagers eschew all visible signs of excitement around their parents.

She just asked if we had to share a bed and wondered if we could have gotten somewhere closer to the water.

She also asked where I’d stayed in the past, which admittedly was usually a bit fancier, but I was in a double income household back then.

For my 40th we luxed it up at the Moana Surfrider. (That’s a pic of me with my birthday dessert – wow I’ve become so decrepit since then!)

And all the youngest got was a stuffed dolphin and a hula outfit because I left her behind at home. (Naaawww she was cuuuuuute!)

This time around I’m a single mum and I’ve already spent far too much on the airfares alone. There ain’t enough cash for a proper beach view.

I’m sure there will be vague glimmers of excitement once she starts taking selfies after we’ve trekked down to Waikiki beach.

Hopefully.

One of my friends faced a similar sting when she organised a family holiday to Hawaii for her 50th this month. Her daughter spacked it because she wouldn’t be home in time to spend Australia Day at Manly Beach with her friends.

Fricking teenagers.

After doing her best blasé impression, the youngest retreated to her mobile device in her room and I mooched around the kitchen feeling hard done by and inhaled too much leftover hummus from dinner.

Inhaling too much leftover hummus is not getting me closer to my personal Hawaii goal – dropping a dress size for the shopping and surf.

But who goes on a health kick just before the Australia Day long weekend? No one!

So I’ve vowed to get my act together from next Tuesday.

I am not very good at getting my act together, but fingers crossed the lure of looking good in the tropics gets me over the line.