The Extraordinary Adventure of Ordinary Alice

By Rebecca Rivinius

In THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF ORDINARY ALICE, Alice, a wife and stay-at-home mother to three boys under the age of nine, is content with her regular and somewhat boring routine. She is not looking forward to her family’s vacation in a beach house in Mexico because she knows all too well how complicated things can get with three small children. Therefore, she is hardly surprised when things go less than perfectly. But what Alice is not expecting is to be caught up in the life of the mysterious artist who lives down the beach. This encounter forces her to discover how she truly feels about herself and the life she has created. Alice is given the opportunity to determine the answer to the question that lies deep within us all—Are we truly happy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Rivinius
• Release date: Jul 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452466545

Rebecca Rivinius

I grew up in a small town in North Dakota. Now I'm a proud military wife who has traveled the country alongside my husband and two sons. When I'm not busy writing, I'm busy reading!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sure I like vacations. Who doesn’t? Family vacations are great. Only a monster would hate to go on a vacation with her family. And I’m not a monster. So why aren’t I feeling happy right now? Shouldn’t I be excited?

I’m sitting here in the Omaha Airport, about to board a plane for a two-week family vacation to Mazatlan, Mexico. Did I forget to mention that my family includes, not one, not two, but three rowdy, freckle-faced boys ranging in ages from eight to four? My husband, James, can’t wait for this vacation. I’ve tried my best to get excited. I’ve tried my best to be optimistic. I’ve even tried my best to pretend to be excited and optimistic. But the truth is I don’t feel excitement right now. The only thing I feel is vomit rising up in my throat.

I have four backpacks piled at my feet. Each one is bigger than the last so the row of them looks like those Russian nesting dolls I always see at Christmas time. The smallest one belongs to Gabriel who is four. He’s sitting on the floor a few feet away from me, playing with a Hot Wheels car and muttering under his breath. His red backpack is filled with more Hot Wheels cars, two aliens, a robot, and his blanket.

The next backpack is six-year-old Henry’s. He and my husband are looking around in the airport gift shop, hopefully not buying or breaking anything. His green backpack contains all four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and about a dozen different dinosaurs with various sized teeth.

Ben’s black Batman backpack is next. At eight years old, Ben is my oldest. He’s sitting in the chair next to me reading a book and twirling his shoe lace around his finger, something he’s done since he first started wearing shoes. He has several books in his backpack along with a handheld video game and a few action figures thrown in for good measure.

Last but not least is my backpack. I call it The Black Behemoth. It’s an enormous black backpack that is filled with granola bars, two bottles of water, anti-nausea medication, baby wipes, an extra shirt for Gabe, an extra shirt for me, my wallet, hand sanitizer, cell phone, the IPod, and an emergency tampon that I’ve been carrying around for at least three years. Oh, and a bottle of Tylenol. I can’t forget that. I also remember I shoved my new novel in at the last minute, though when I’ll have time to read it, I don’t know. All four passports are in there, also, though I’m hoping that, through some unknown miracle, I won’t have to show mine at customs. My passport photo is by far the most unflattering picture I’ve ever taken and, believe me, I’ve taken some bad pictures (there are several of me in labor with Ben that definitely didn’t make the baby book).

The disastrous passport photo shoot started out good. The boys were behaving and, thankfully, the passport line was short. The woman at the passport office did all the boys’ paperwork and photos first which went surprisingly smooth. But then it was my turn. I stood to face the camera but out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gabe studying the woman in line behind us. A split second before the camera snaps the picture, I hear Gabe say, Excuse me, but did you know you have an enormous booger in your nose? I gasped out loud. My eyes bugged out and my mouth was wide open, showing my tongue and bottom teeth, just as my picture was taken. I hurried over to Gabe but the poor woman had already stepped out of line and taken off towards the bathroom before I could apologize. The whole event was mortifying but to top it off, the camera jammed and refused to take another picture. The woman behind the desk tried to reassure me that my photo wasn’t that bad but I could tell she was struggling not to laugh.

Don’t worry, Mrs. Cillinger, she said, mispronouncing my name, No one even looks at those pictures. Yeah, right, I think. I can already picture the Mexican customs agents getting a good laugh at my expense.

WE WILL NOW BEGIN BOARDING THE FIRST CLASS SECTION OF FLIGHT 314 TO PHOENIX. Why do the voices making announcements in airports sound the same? Is that a job requirement?

Is that our flight, Mom? asks Ben, looking up from his book.

Yup, but we need to wait until they call for our row to board, I answer.

Who’s Ourro? Gabe asks.

No, honey, I smile. Our row. The row on the plane that we’re sitting on.

Oh, Gabe says. Then I hear him muttering, I thought we were sitting on seats. I don’t have the energy to clarify it for him right now. Besides, we will be on the airplane in a few minutes and any confusion that he has will get sorted out once he sees it.

James comes over to where we’re sitting, pulling a reluctant Henry by the hand.

Are you ready? I ask him cheerfully, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

I wanted a new dinosaur for our trip, Henry says with a pout.

You’ll be able to pick out a souvenir for this trip but I don’t think you need an eight dollar dinosaur from the airport that is twelve miles from our house, James tells him. Shouldn’t we be boarding now, Alice?

I nod but I am having trouble getting up. My legs seem to suddenly be made of concrete and will not respond to the message that my brain is sending.

Everyone grab your backpacks, James tells the boys. The rest of the passengers have been hastily boarding the airplane. We are one of the last few remaining. James heaves the Black Behemoth over his shoulder, I finally manage to stand, and we make our way to the door of the jet way.

You know that families with young children are welcome to board with the first class passengers so that you have ample time to get settled on board, the lady at the door tells me as I hand her our boarding passes.

Ample time? I have not had ample time to do anything since 1999.

Yes, I know, but the least amount of time these guys spend on the airplane, the better off we all are, I say, giving her the you know how it is smile that mothers love to give each other. This smile is almost always able to smooth over any situation and has been known to form an instant bond of camaraderie between two women who are complete strangers.

One time in the post office, Gabriel was having what James and I call a Code Blue Tantrum, which basically means he’s laying on the floor kicking and screaming. I had tried everything: explaining, threatening, distracting, and simply walking away and ignoring the whole thing. Nothing was working. The woman behind me was going out of her way to make the world’s loudest possible sighs and disgusted facial expressions to let me know just how she felt about my child and my parenting. I gave her my best you know how it is smile and suddenly the angry stranger was transformed into a sympathetic mother who reciprocated with the different but equally powerful Don’t worry, I’ve been there smile.

But apparently this time, I have misread the situation with the airline lady.

My smile bounces right off her (she must have a force field made of ‘bitchiness’ which no smile can penetrate). A frown appears on her make-up encrusted face and she says to me, in the most condescending voice possible, Ma’am, your family is not the only family on board. We make the suggestion for you to board first in the hopes that you will be considerate to the rest of the passengers and get your family on the aircraft and situated so there isn’t any delay in our take-off.

Yikes. That immediately wipes the you know how it is smile off my face. Apparently, the she-beast doesn’t have children.

As soon as our boarding passes are scanned, I take Gabriel’s hand and we head down the jet way with Henry and Ben following behind.

She’s a pleasant woman, says James sarcastically, as he brings up the rear of our little parade.

Yup, we’re off to a good start.

I always have a feeling of dread as I walk down the jet way towards the airplane. I feel like I’m walking the green mile towards my execution. In this case, it may not be that far off the mark. I get terribly airsick whenever I fly. If I could just take a triple dose of Dramamine and sleep, this wouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t think it will go over well with my boys if mommy is passed out and drooling in the next seat.

Besides, I’m worried about Gabriel. This is his first time flying and he gets carsick quite often. The poor kid has inherited my weak stomach. I always got carsick as a kid and still do sometimes. My sister, Amy, will never let me forget the time I was seven and threw up all over my shoes when we were driving through the Appalachian Mountains and we had to drive out of our way to find a Walmart so my parents could buy me a new pair.

I’ve already taken a Dramamine and I gave Gabe half a tablet too. At least, maybe he’ll sleep. This is the first time flying for all of the boys. Maybe I should have given them all a dose, I think to myself.

We find our seats in the middle of the plane. I put Henry by the window and Gabriel next to him. They cram their backpacks under the seat per my instructions. I sink down into the aisle seat and get smacked in the face by the Black Behemoth as James is trying to get himself and Ben settled in their seats across the aisle. I really hate that bag.

The flight crew locks the jet’s door and we push back from the gate. Is it too late to back out?

Chapter 2

We’re flying at 25,000 feet, this time on the flight from Phoenix to Mazatlan. Our first flight from Omaha to Phoenix was just what I feared- disastrous. Henry and Gabe fought over the armrest. Then they decided to play ninja turtles but they fought over who got to be the blue one. Then they argued over the armrest again. This all happened before the plane even left the ground. As soon as the pilot turned the seatbelt light off, James made Gabe come sit by him and sent Ben over by me. Ben was grumpy because he had to move and Henry was pretending to be a dinosaur which was driving us all crazy. Gabriel spilled his juice all over his shirt two minutes after the flight attendant handed it to him and immediately started crying because he was wet and cold. I changed Gabe’s shirt while James got the IPod out and a movie going. This kept the boys occupied for awhile. But twenty minutes before we landed in Phoenix, we hit some turbulence. Gabriel started crying, We need to land! We need to land! I knew he must be feeling nauseous because it was all I could do to keep from throwing up myself. James was in the bathroom during the crucial moment when both our stomachs decided it was enough. I was busy throwing up in the lovely miniature-sized airsickness bag (I don’t know about you but I need a bucket the size of a kiddie pool when I’m throwing up) while holding another bag up to Gabe’s mouth as he did the same. I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever experienced a tandem puking event and I hope it’s the last. Our layover in Phoenix gave everyone a chance to calm down and get some energy out and Gabe seems to be feeling fine now, though my stomach is still a bit queasy.

So here we are, about an hour away from landing in Mexico. All three boys are sitting across the aisle watching a movie on the IPod, which is worth its weight in gold, and I’ve moved over to sit next to James. He has his head back and his eyes closed but I know he’s awake because he reaches over and grabs my hand. James has been very excited about this trip and I feel bad that I’ve been less than enthusiastic. Don’t get me wrong…I consider myself a fun person. I admit that I am a homebody in general but that doesn’t mean that I don’t like to get out and do fun things. It’s just that traveling is so much work with three young kids! The flight alone has taken what little energy I had left after spending the past week making lists, shopping, and packing (and repacking after Henry emptied the suitcases in search of his missing sunglasses).

James has the luxury of waiting until the night before we leave and then throwing some stuff in his suitcase. I’m the one who spends the entire week before we leave packing for the boys which not only includes their clothes but also snacks, toys, and books. And then there are things like toiletries and sunscreen and cameras and all that stuff that my husband must think magically appears whenever he needs it.

I must point out in all fairness, that James is not a lazy person. He works very hard as a civil engineer and comes home in the evenings and still finds time to be a great dad and attentive husband. One reason that he’s so excited about this trip to Mazatlan is that he’s the sole reason we’re going. James works for Delgado Inc. which is the largest civil engineering firm in Omaha and owned by Don Delgado who built the company up from scratch more than three decades ago. Anyway, a two-week vacation at Mr. Delgado’s beach house in Mazatlan, Mexico was the top prize in the raffle at the company Christmas party this year. James bought a single raffle ticket out of obligation and ended up winning, bringing our seven year streak of winning absolutely nothing at the Christmas party to an end. When they announced James’ name as the winner, Mr. Delgado, who by this time was working on his fourth glass of scotch from the open bar, had a last minute burst of generosity and decided he would spring for airline tickets as well. The open bar had also taken its toll on my poor husband who began whooping and jumping around like a kindergartener. He has been so excited for this trip for the past six months. James feels like this trip is his gift to his family. I haven’t pointed out the fact that his gift is free.

I give James’ hand a squeeze. I’m fortunate I have a husband who is excited to go on a vacation with his wife and kids and I’m going to do my best to be excited too. This may even be the best vacation ever, I suddenly think optimistically.

My sister, Amy, has spent the past month telling me that very same thing. At thirty-four, my sister is two years older than me and has spent her life talking me down from whatever metaphorical ledge I’m currently standing on. Amy has two kids, Chris, who is seven, and Sara, who is five. Amy recently went back to work as a dispatcher for the police department after being a stay-at-home mom like me. She is the most optimistic person I know and takes the expression Pollyanna attitude to new depths. According to Amy, this vacation will be amazing. I will get to relax on the beach, James and I will spend every night having mind-blowing sex, and the boys will all develop such a deep understanding of the term family that they will spend the twelve days being best friends.

Hmmm, she may be taking the optimism a bit far. Still, her optimism is often easier to digest than the realism of my best friend, Brooke.

Have you ever heard the term brutal truth? That basically sums up Brooke. Brooke is a thirty-two year old trapped in the amazing body of a twenty-two year old. She is actually eight months older than me but I often feel like she is my much, much, much younger sister. She tells you exactly what she is thinking, no matter how horrible it is and has a tendency to sound sarcastic at least ninety percent of the time.

So why am I friends with her? Brooke and I met in kindergarten and became best friends on the day I wet my pants and Brooke gave me her sweater to wrap around my waist so that our troll of a teacher wouldn’t find out. Aside from being brutally honest and sometimes downright rude, Brooke is actually quite generous and will do anything for a friend. After knowing her for the past twenty-seven years, I’ve developed a thick skin to her truthful observations and only seldom have my feelings get hurt. Ok, that’s not exactly true. But at least my skin is thicker than it used to be.

Brooke has spent the past month telling me how disastrous this trip will be. Three kids for two weeks in Mexico- Do you have any idea how exhausted you’re going to be? she told me on the phone a few days ago. This coming from a woman who has no kids and gets exhausted from simply walking past the entrance to Toys R Us.

You sound exhausted just from the packing and you haven’t even left yet! she continued.

I know, Brooke, I said, holding the phone with my ear so that my hands were free to tackle my out-of-control eyebrows with a tweezers. But think how much fun the boys will have on the beach. Ouch! I decided I can’t do two things at once and I laid the tweezers down.

Mexico, though, it’s not exactly kid friendly, is it? she asked.

I rolled my eyes and reminded myself why we’ve been friends this long. For your information, I tell her, Mexico is extremely kid friendly. I’ve been doing research for weeks. Please stop trying to get under my skin. I’m stressed enough the way it is.

Sorry, babe, she says and I actually hear some regret in her voice which is a rarity. "I won’t say another word about it. I can’t wait to hear all about the wonderful trip!"

###

I shut off the movie the boys were watching on the IPod as we begin our descent. Everyone swaps seats once again and now I’m sitting with Henry and Gabriel.

Look at all that water! Henry exclaims.

Mazatlan is spread beneath us in all its glory. The water is the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen.

Do you see the boats down there, Gabe? I ask my youngest son who doesn’t answer because he has the seatbelt shoved in his mouth and is trying to bite through it. Gabriel! Stop that! I hiss and quickly pull the germ-ridden seatbelt out of his mouth.

But Force-Teeth must keep his teeth sharpened, Gabe says in a low throaty voice. I send a look of despair over to James, who must have overheard because he purposely won’t look at me and is trying to hide a smile.

Gabe kind of has this thing with his teeth. He pretends he is Force Teeth, a superhero he invented who has super strong teeth and can bite through anything. James and I both thought it was cute at first but now I’m finding it less and less amusing with each passing day. I catch him trying to bite through everything wherever we go: his silverware, the plastic trays at McDonald’s, markers, shampoo bottles, furniture, shopping carts. You name it, he bites it. I don’t think there is a single one of his books that doesn’t show signs of being gnawed upon. And Ben and Henry complain daily about finding teeth marks on their favorite toys. I even catch Gabe with a mouthful of the carpet sometimes. I don’t even want to think about what he did to my couch. On top of being angry, I’m starting to get a little concerned, too. Is my child a weirdo with some strange oral fixation (I