I know people who never leave their kids. My husband and I are not those people.
Like parents everywhere, we love our children dearly. We laugh at their jokes, think our offspring is especially witty, and regularly wonder how we got so lucky. We love them, yes, but we also leave them because we firmly believe one of the best things we can do as parents is to care for our marriage.
We took our first trip away from our baby when he was around 10 months old. It had been a whirlwind year of exuberance and exhaustion, and we were both ready for the break. At the time, we were living in Wisconsin, far far away from our relatives so my in-laws flew out to stay with our little baby while we jetted off to Puerta Vallarta.
The plane ride was pure bliss. After ten months of hardly being alone, ever, after all those months of having someone need me constantly, I could suddenly breath. I could nap, or read, or a little of both. I could talk to my husband and pay attention, really pay attention, without having to do that magic trick mastered by mothers everywhere, the one where we simultaneously entertain two trains of thought: one about the current conversation, and the silent one, the one where we’re thinking about all of the things the baby needs and how dog-tired we are.
Our plane landed, and after a long cold Wisconsin winter, the warm tropical breeze felt like life itself. We arrived at our fancy hotel, amazed at our luck, and headed into town for a little fiesta.
That’s when it happened. Everywhere I looked there were Mexican mothers nursing their babies. My heart nearly stopped and I wanted to turn around, hop back on that plane, and bring my baby with me. I missed him so much it hurt. But I couldn’t fly back and I forced myself to be present, to try to enjoy the place and time despite the pain. I drank the margaritas, chatted with my husband about everything and nothing, and ate the best salsa I’ve had. Ever.
We were gone for almost a week and I missed him every day. I missed him while we snorkeled. I missed him while we road horses into the hills. But even as I missed him, I knew three important things were happening. One: my precious little baby was learning that he could depend on someone other than me. Two: I was learning that someone other than me could take care of the most beautiful boy in the world. And three: My marriage was getting a breath of fresh air.
There’s no time like a week away from the stress of daily life to dream with your spouse about what your lives will be. There’s no easier time to say, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about this. What do you think?” And there’s no easier time to listen. With the waves and the sun and the sand, you’ve got nothing but time.
We were in Pasadena last week, sans niños. When I returned, I was talking to a friend about our trip and I said, “It was like time magnified. There were so many hours in every day!” It was like this: Every morning I woke up to the gorgeous sun shining in the windows. Some days I went for a run. Other days I did yoga. I laid by the pool, I went to the farmer’s market. I had lunch at the Ivy and shopped at Kitson and Tory Burch. Another day I drove to the Getty and then to Santa Monica. Still, there was more time! One evening we saw the Angels beat the Rangers, another I had dinner with a friend I haven’t seen for 19 years, and yet another my husband and I went to a fantastic little Italian Restaurant for a dinner that cost about as much as my first car. Ahhh, California.
But whether we’re living it up in LA or booking a local hotel on Hotwire, the idea is the same: At least once a year, we feed our souls and our marriage by trading the bills, the shopping, the laundry, the carpooling, and the cooking for a few days of talking, laughing, and remembering why we chose each other in the first place.
In a few short weeks, our first little baby will turn 15-years-old. 15! And it’s a simple math equation to figure out that he’ll be leaving us in no time for a whole new exciting chapter of collegiate life. His brothers will follow shortly thereafter. Neither one of us—my husband or me—has any interest in turning around to discover we let twenty-plus years go by without bothering to know the depth of each other’s thoughts, dreams, fears, and hopes. And you just can’t do that while you’re carpooling and helping with homework.
My favorite trips?
- The one we took, just for a weekend, to Chicago. It had been a particularly tough year and some friends offered to keep the kids for the weekend. Hotwire scored us a great hotel deal on the Magnificent Mile and we had more fun in those few days together than we’d had in ages. Loved it.
- Our first trip to Traverse City, MI, when our second baby was little. Again, it was just a weekend, maybe one night, two days? All I remember is that we needed the break, we needed the time, and Traverse City delivered. It was cold, November, I think, but we had a great dinner, listened to a band, and had a chance to relax talk about life. Just what the doctor ordered!
How about you? Do you have a favorite place for a couple’s vacation? Do you tend to return to “your” place time and time again, or visit different spots? Any tips for first-timers, or parents reluctant to leave their young charges? Or if you don’t go, why? Would you be willing to try?
