It Is What It Is

The beginning of our two hours at a museum (with a lunch break in between)

I've heard this saying a lot lately, "It is what it it." Usually I hear it after someone describes a sad state of affairs or being, and then in an expression of acceptance of the undesirable they utter, "It is what it is." Even though it's not meant to be sad, but rather, bleak optimism.
I heard it from my mom a couple times last week, my sister this week, and even the lady who sat next to me on the plane when I flew to Philadelphia for the beginning of our family vacation.
We kicked off our trip by eating a Philly Cheesesteak at 1:00am after getting picked up at the airport. A decision that took four Evolution Green Juices to get me right again. After a couple days in Philly we went to New York City and spent two nights which I realized is hardly enough time to give my relatives a hug before having to leave town, so next time, we'll make it a week.
New York is the best. I'm not sure my kids would agree since they acted like they were lost in the Sahara, desperately seeking shelter and air conditioning, minutes after we'd start on our ten mile days.
Compared to their cousins, who everyday walk five miles on the Highline, obediently holding the sides of their baby sister's stroller, admiring the greenery and tourists without a peep of indignation, my kids looked like a couple of softies.
I see why no one is fat in New York, fucking walk your ass off all day. Waiting in a 30 minute line at Starbucks, something that would cause toe tapping annoyance elsewhere, is actually relaxing.

This is our first true "family vacation" since the kids were born and aside from the nonstop complaints about walking, there hasn't been chaotic meltdowns that cause my head to explode in public, where I end the day cleaning my brains off the wall, ashamed for loosing my cool. Things are only getting better from here, next year perhaps we can venture to the Italian coast, and the year after, Mount Fuji. I will shed tears of joy when we can roam though a museum spending four straight hours admiring the halls.

Tomorrow is our last day on the East Coast and were heading to Lancaster to gawk at the Amish.  My sister, who has taken us on a culinary expedition of the city, says we should save ourselves for Amish butter as well as their version of root beer, birch beer. We've eaten everything in Philadelphia with four or more stars on Yelp, and tonight I am so uncomfortably full, falling asleep seems like it might be a difficult task. I did a bad job "saving myself" for fresh churned butter.

Ten years ago a trip like this, Philly to NYC, would have ended with me on an airplane hungover with a bag of souvenirs I bought after spending those "museum hours" at a beer garden chain smoking and glowing in conviviality. I'd have read three mystery novels, slept in till noon everyday and made 17 new Facebook friends I would look at in my timeline ten years later and think, Who the hell is that dude. Instead, I'm leaving with a more sophisticated palate, further enlightened to the added health benefits of living in a walkable city, and I was able to squeeze in two hours at a museum, with a lunch break in between and four trips to the bathroom.

So family vacations get me closer to my goal of meaningful museum visits because were committed to doing cultural activities rather than self indulgent. Its for the better, and even if it isn't, it is what it is.