7 Stages of a Kid-Free Vacation

As Mark and I approach fifteen years of marriage, we often forget what our life entailed before we transitioned from two college students aching to spend every day together to two groggy parents who rarely find two consecutive nights uninterrupted by the hum-drum details of managing a family of six. Living this life, working through the highs and lows of parenting, tends to take a toll on the people who created it. Like everyone else experiencing this stage, our previous life is a distant blur.


So goes the life of a married couple with kids. We love them; we love each other. We crave family time; we crave couple time. Our emotions oscillate as we walk this delicate balance of seeking enough minutes in the day for everyone. Most days, it's a struggle. Most days, we long for more. Some months, we may only squeeze in a couple of short hours out of the house together. Otherwise, we settle for coffee and squirrel-gazing on the deck while the kids play Minecraft inside, or wine and Netflix on the couch when they're finally asleep. We manage, because it's all we can do at this point in time. It's being a parent. We want it. We love it, even though it's difficult. We know it will not be like this forever.


However...


You can imagine that when an opportunity came up for us to spend a week focusing only on ourselves, we pounced on it before the grandparents had a second to change their minds.


They offered at least five, maybe seven days for us to be...alone. Alone, alone.

Because the decision was pretty last minute, and we already had commitments for a couple of the days, we weren't able to sneak off for a Caribbean vacay (my first choice). Instead, we enjoyed three staycation nights and two nights in a cabin on a lake a few hours from home. Mark worked some, and I fulfilled my obligations that had been set a month ago. As we navigated this new territory of kid-free vacation time, I realized that we did not experience an easy shift from parents to a couple on a romantic getaway. Our vacation moved through stages.


Seven stages to be exact.


Seven stages I did not expect to encounter during our eagerly anticipated break from parenthood. If you are ever going to enjoy some time away from your children, you may want to be prepared for this range of emotions that may show up out of nowhere. They came as a shocker for me, for sure.


Stage 1-Elation


We left the four children in our hometown (with both sets of grandparents) after spending the July 4th holiday weekend with everyone. Prepping for their weeklong stay was a lot of work for me, and while I knew I would miss them, I also knew that they were going to have cool adventures. So much excitement and anticipation had been building, so when it officially happened, all we could do was be giddy. I actually clapped and shrieked a little.


Stage 2-Relaxation


Our drive home without them was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that we were able to discuss ourselves. We talked about current events, work, our upcoming plans, whatever we wanted. Free from typical refereeing which usually happens during our family trips, we didn't utter any of these sentences:


Would you please chew with your mouth closed?


Stop poking your sister in the neck.


We'll be home in an hour.


Leave his pillow alone.


Quit kicking my seat.


Who has to go to the bathroom?


No, you cannot have any more snacks.


Yes, we're almost there.


How would you like it if someone poked you in the neck?


You know what I mean. Without anyone behind us, we were so relaxed. Sometimes, we didn't talk at all as we soaked up the lack of sound. Coming home to an empty house meant more quiet, more peace, more freedom to choose our own paths. We controlled the TV, the iPad, the meals, everything! It was surreal. We even walked to a local restaurant for dinner on Monday evening. The only people who walk to that hip spot are the young couples who haven't had any children yet and the empty nesters in our neighborhood. This time, we were one of them. No kid menus for this couple. No whiners about tired feet. Just us. Just awesome.


Stage 3-Regret


Tuesday morning dawned, and after Mark left the house for work, I began to wonder if we had made a mistake.


Did we really need all that time to ourselves? Should I really be sitting in such an empty house, sipping piping hot coffee and checking Facebook, uninterrupted?


I was missing my daily squeezes. Missing the sounds of my family. Missing the rooms filled with bodies, no matter how sassy or stinky or silly they are. I cleaned. I cooked. I laundered. I completed all of my motherly duties, all without a child underfoot. It felt strangely wrong, and I told Mark that I was worried about how slowly the day passed by without anybody home with me. Is this what life will be like when they all go to school next year?


Stage 4-Worry


Wednesday morning was our planned departure date for our mini-vacation. After we talked with each child and tied up loose ends around the house, I averted my future identity crisis. We hit the road, which meant more time in the car together, in the cabin, in restaurants. We turned into a married couple with no kids in sight.


We've been alone for four days now. What if we run out of conversation topics? Is this what it's going to be like when the kids are all grown, and we're alone together every day? Can we handle it?


Stage 5-Guilt


Yes! Handling it well, Mark and I felt young again. We dozed past 9 a.m., kayaked across a serenely tranquil lake, devoured double scoop waffle cones and cracked up at Tommy Boy. Throughout the hours, our children came up in conversation, always in the back of our minds.


Suddenly, by Thursday, the entire night slipped by without us calling to check on them, and I felt like the most rotten mother in the world.


How could I have gone to sleep without hearing from my babies?


I'm not 19 anymore, what was I thinking?


I'm a mom with countless responsibilities, and being an ultra-competitive diva playing Scattergories at a cabin in the boonies isn't one of them.


Or is it?


Stage 6-Reconnection


I drove to see the kids on a Saturday, exactly six days from saying good-bye to them. They seemed older and appeared different. We hugged, and I prodded them for info about their week. Instead of lengthy, juicy play-by-plays, they only provided me with short answers.


"Good. Yeah. I don't know."


The five of us returned all the way home on Sunday, driving with no DVD player and in tight enough quarters that their legs and shoulders actually touched one another. Taking Mark's sporty car so I could drive with an open sun-roof and loud radio on the way there didn't exactly work out so well for the return trip.


I began wondering if separating the family for almost a week made me less tolerable to their usual behaviors or if the kids were angry with each other and me for leaving them for a week. What had I done?


Stage 7-Anticipation


When Monday afternoon rolled around, I felt myself missing Mark like I hadn't missed him in years, even though he was only ten miles away at work. I had grown accustomed to being near him, to our bodies and minds being present with one another all the time. I found myself daydreaming about our future. I began to imagine not only our next date night, but also our next kid-free vacation and even our retirement. I remembered why we fell in love half of my lifetime ago, and I focused on how blessed I was that we have an entire life ahead of us.


Next, I chose to turn an even stronger focus to the kids. Focus on their humor, their needs and their purpose in our home. Being without them for a week did create a longing for more family time. More time connecting with each one. More listening. More summer relaxing. Just more.


Parents have so many responsibilities, and one of them is that we do what we can to recharge and renew ourselves. A kid-free vacation may not be in the cards for everyone, but any amount of time you can devote to yourself as an adult first can only help.


You may be surprised at how much closer it will bring the entire family. Even if there's not time this year, think about it for another time. Kids benefit from happy parents. I hope you will benefit from my experience in knowing it may not be easy, but it will definitely be worth it.


What have you done to renew yourself as a parent? Do you have any advice to share?

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Mourning My Dear Friend, Fertile Myrtle

I suppose I should start by warning you that this post is about lady business. Dudes who read my page: you could benefit from reading it all, as someday, it may pertain to a woman you love, but feel free to turn away at any point. I promise I won't be offended. What I'm about to share is so deeply rooted in my mom-ness, and simply writing about it for you is healing, so would you please bare with me through this experience?

Now, let's get to it.

I have had a lot of nicknames throughout my life. Some were cute, some were mean, many were the result of little kids unable to say my real name. Elizabeth is a mouthful for children in any language, as we've learned. One nickname that my dear old dad bestowed upon me as I was popping out two babies in one year was Fertile Myrtle. As I announced that second pregnancy, I distinctly remember him saying, "Well, I guess we can just call you Fertile Myrtle, like your mom!" As more years passed and babies kept coming, the silly name lingered. Last Thursday morning, I had to say good-bye to Fertile Myrtle forever. It was so much harder than I imagined.

I had always considered my fertility an abundant blessing. Four pregnancies resulting in four healthy children was pretty incredible. I knew it to be true. I was defying statistics, so I was thrilled to be Fertile Myrtle for most of our married life.

She consciously retired after number four was born, but the possibility of her creeping in for one more April Fool's joke was never far from my mind.

Ever.

So, I went along the past five years, raising our four kiddos with no room or reason to add any more, yet my baby fever never broke.

Ever.

I always wondered, "What if...?"

Always.

Then, within the last year, the possibility of me actually permanently losing my fertility became a reality. I would need to have a surgical procedure for my own health, and the end result would be the end of this life I have always equated with who I am.

Fertile.

Woman.

Mother.

Gone.

As my surgery date grew near, the most unforgiving nag in my mind was not typical anxiety over pain or nausea or anesthesia or the laundry that would pile up during my recovery. It was the conscious steps being taken to strip away this beautiful gift I received upon my own birth. My gift of fertility.

On that early March morning, as my doctor popped into my hospital room to prepare for what would be a routine procedure for her, I suddenly felt the urge to stall. I knew that as soon as she said, "See you in there," it would be the end of an era.

Deliberately removing the lining of a woman's uterus to improve her health would be nothing unusual for my trusted and gifted surgeon. All in a day's work, as the saying goes.

Losing that precious cushion, which was the very first resting place for all four of my babies, would prove to be a grievous moment for this mama.

Knowing, from that day forward, that my body would no longer be a safe haven for any future surprise chocolate fans was difficult for me to swallow.

I grasped at the right words to explain my thoughts.

Women my age are just now starting to have babies.

I know we don't need any more kids, but I would always want more.

I just don't know if I'm ready....if I can do this.

It's so final. It's irreversible.

Witnessing my inner and outer struggles, my doctor graciously asked if we needed to postpone my surgery.

Then, my husband did what he does best. He cracked a joke, "Would you please stop dreaming about having more kids without me?"

And, there it was. Our laughter. The laughter that had guided me through every difficult moment in our eighteen years together. It's what I needed at that very instant. After punching him in the arm, I sighed a few more times, gave the all clear, and the rest is history.

It's been less than a week after having said farewell to my lucrative gig as Fertile Myrtle, so I don't know how long it will take for me to truly accept this next phase of my life. My days of housing and cradling babies in this wonderful womb of mine are officially finished, but I am truly thankful for the many years it served my bouncy babies so well.

Here I am, expecting number four, holding a drawing that my recent preschool graduate had given to me. It says, "I Love You, Mama." When our last baby was born, our other kids were only 7, 5 and 2. Wow, Fertile Myrtle was really busy!  

 

A woman's fertility is such a delicate subject. I wonder if anyone else who has gone through circumstances like mine felt a similar range of emotions before surgery. Even if you had no previous plans to have more children, was the permanence of it all difficult for you to handle? Would you be bold and share your experiences with us? I'd love to hear from you!

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Should We Provide Yearly Spouse Reviews?

Can I share some advice with you that I learned over the weekend? It came about from quite an unlikely source: a juicy novel about a woman who whacks her head at the gym and forgets everything that has happened to her in the past ten years.

Imagine everything that has occurred during your own life over the last ten years.

Obviously, for many of us, developing amnesia at this point in our lives would erase the memories of our children. Images of carrying, birthing, nursing, raising, and loving those noisy bundles would vanish, thus deleting this all-consuming notion we know as motherhood.

Although forgetting the children was an integral factor of the complex plot in the supermom's saga, it was a quick discussion that occurred between the husband and wife which lingered in my mind, long after I closed the cover of my book.

As this woman with amnesia is trying to piece together her life, she wonders why she fights so much with her husband. Why don't they find value in the same parts of life anymore? What happened to them?

He's often at work, where he's been promoted during the ten years that is lost in her consciousness. At the office, he feels important, making money for the family to have a comfortable home, cars, clothes and entertainment. 

The husband is extremely successful in his career. People throughout his office seek his advice, opinion and knowledge. He is an expert in many areas, topics about which his wife knows very little.

The trouble emerges when he begins to feel no value in his own home. He eventually decides that he would rather spend more time at work, where he's admired and appreciated, than at home where he feels belittled. He finally tells his wife that she makes him feel as though nothing he does around there is good enough. With the house, the kids, the dishes, the laundry, the schedules, the school. He can never do any of it right, according to her.

As I read the couple of pages that address the husband's feelings, I started to wonder about my own marriage. Do I act that way, too? Do you?

This post isn't about women and men and who has it harder or worse, or that we are all equal anyway. It's about the fact that maybe we should take a look at ways we can help our spouses feel valued. I know that mine has joked about me not letting him help me in the kitchen or that I worry he won't ask all the right questions when he takes the kids to the doctor. Why would I care so much? I can't change the oil in the car, and I definitely do not want to be in charge of the leaves in the fall. We all have our gifts and strengths which blend together to make a family function.

If ten years of my life were erased from my memory, I hope that I wouldn't find that I had forgotten to show the love of my life and father of my children how awesome he is. If we were to set up yearly spouse reviews, like employers do, what would we say about the person with whom we choose to share our lives?

So, what's my advice? Let's not ever allow our spouse's boss to be better at praising him or her than we are.

 

Are you guilty of letting someone else praise your spouse more than you? Can you change it?

 

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