Father’s Day Recovery Mode

It was another rough night, which was probably not helped by the fact that we’re visiting during the summer solstice when darkness is apparently just a rumor in the Pacific Northwest. Between the endless daylight and being in a new place, the girls’ internal clocks seem to be operating on pure chaos.

We rallied because it was Father’s Day.

After enough coffee to make reasonable decisions seem possible again, we headed into downtown Friday Harbor for a diner breakfast. The place was packed, which is always a good sign. 

The breakfast was fantastic, good enough that we briefly forgot how exhausted we were.

Both girls were in great spirits. Joni charmed everyone within a 50-foot radius while Evie took a temporary break from her anti-sleep campaign. For one glorious meal, we almost looked like a family that had everything figured out.

We wandered through town afterward, exploring parks, shops, and whatever caught Joni’s attention for more than six seconds. She happily marched all over Friday Harbor, determined to inspect every flower, rock, and patch of grass available. 

Eventually we returned to the Airbnb for the sacred vacation tradition known as the midday siesta.

 

Refreshed, or at least less exhausted, we headed back out for a brief beach excursion and some wine tasting. The day felt less like an adventure and more like a recovery mission after the previous night’s sleep deprivation. Nobody was trying to conquer mountains or break personal records. We were simply trying to remain functional adults. 

Mission mostly accomplished.

As the afternoon settled in, we mapped out plans for the upcoming week and returned to the Airbnb for what turned out to be one of those simple vacation evenings that ends up becoming a favorite memory.

The girls played happily while we enjoyed some wine, a great dinner, and the increasingly rare feeling that nobody urgently needed anything.

After bedtime, the adults migrated to the back deck overlooking the lush Pacific Northwest forest. With glasses of wine in hand, we sat under the lingering summer-solstice twilight while Vidah attempted the impossible task of teaching us Portuguese.

There was a lot of laughter.

There was very little actual learning.

At various points we were convinced we’d mastered a phrase, only to discover we’d accidentally said something completely different. Vidah was remarkably patient as we butchered her language one pronunciation at a time.

The setting couldn’t have been much better: towering evergreens, cool evening air, birds settling in for the night, and a sky that stubbornly refused to get completely dark.

It wasn’t a big excursion or a major sightseeing day. In fact, most of the day was spent recovering from the previous night’s chaos. But sometimes those are the best vacation days, the ones where nobody is rushing anywhere, everyone is together, and the biggest challenge is figuring out how to pronounce Portuguese words after a couple glasses of wine.

Eventually the wine glasses emptied, the Portuguese lesson mercifully ended, and exhaustion finally caught up with us.

Most importantly, it also caught up with Evie.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everyone slept.

Happy Father’s Day indeed.