Parenting: There are no more vacations, only trips
We’ve still all got sand in our hair from a week-long trip to the Outer Banks of NC. Our beach trip was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. But really, I think an important part of parenting is accepting that when traveling with your children, there are no more vacations: only trips. If you want a vacation, leave the young ones behind. So, I have resolved to accept our summer “trips,” and I might even call them “adventures” on a good day.
First, there is the packing in which we squeeze everything from boogie boards to Barbies to a big bottle of wine for me into the car. On the way home, we do the same thing except now we have collected a pound of sand and a hermit crab named Shellington Winthrop III who escapes from his cage somewhere between Robersonsville and Rocky Mount. But, as my mother-in-law says “we are making memories!” The hermit crab survived, and surprisingly so did we.
The beach itself was beautiful, but before sitting down, we must apply sunscreen to three squirming little humans. Then life vests on the two littlest, and some time for a stern talking to about water safety. Ah, time to sit and read a book? No, what do you think this is, a vacation? You may sit, but stay alert or the ocean might suck them out to sea. Also, the children need potato chips, a hug, a towel, a shovel, and can you please jump waves? I acquiesce and take their hands to the water’s edge. They count “one, two, three!” and squeal when each wave crashes against their bellies and my thighs. I watch a pelican dive with abandon. My oldest catches a perfect wave on her boogie board. For a moment, it’s all worth it. Soak it up, I say to myself, and squeeze their little hands tighter.
On the walk back from the beach, it begins to rain. I cover my head with a towel, and I’m about to begin running when I turn around to tell the kids to hurry up, but they have stopped, faces pointed to the sky, mouths wide open, catching raindrops. My middle child repeats my own words back to me: “We aren’t made of sugar. We won’t melt, Mama.” So we get drenched, and they jump in puddles. I am soggy but happy when we arrive back at the beach house.
In the evenings, we are all sunburned and tired, but the children stay up late anyway and are mostly whiny. We make a big pot of spaghetti and slurp noodles together. My youngest says, “Hey, Mom, look!” He has a mouthful of noodles hanging down past his chin: “I’m Abe Lincoln. This is my beard!” And for once, I don’t tell him to clean himself up. I chuckle and let him continue making a giant mess. I say “watch this” and slurp a noodle so hard that it flings marinara sauce across my face. His eyes light up with delight.
This is summer ”vacation” with kids. It’s not relaxing, but we can find delight in the beautiful mess. And thankfully, there’s always a Minecraft YouTube video to keep them busy while I finally read my book.
