I Took a Two-Week Caribbean "Momcation" Without My Kids
I could have let those feelings make for a truly terrible trip. But … I also felt free.
Throughout the entire trip, I encountered moments of pure “me-ness,” brief times when I recognized that I was stripped of worry and guilt. That used to be how I operated all the time — like I was a person who could navigate a new city with pure joy and anticipation, instead of worrying about screwing up the public transport, wondering if everyone could go another hour without food or planning obsessively for the inevitable moment when a child was going to have to use a restroom “RIGHT NOW!”
It took a two-week vacation to the Caribbean for me to feel what used to be constant: strong, satisfied and eager for whatever came next. And, lucky for both me and my traveling companion, those moments far outweighed the times when I missed my family horribly.
The last night of the cruise, which was still three nights until I’d be home, Terri and I drank wine and chatted in what had become “our lounge,” the quietest place we could find on the ship. We went to dinner and stopped back at the cabin before taking a walk around the upper decks. I shouldn’t have, but I checked my email — and found this:
Hi mom it’s Luca. Right now im sick and i feel horrible. i miss you so much. Please call back sometime. I love you. 🙁
If there’s one thing that can ruin my night, it’s an email from a suffering kid.
I couldn’t call because of the lack of cell service, but I could message my husband to check in. We chatted a moment or two via FaceTime (Luca was in the shower) and I could tell things were tense. My husband was juggling a sick kid, another kid who needed a bedtime story and probably a few intense work projects. I felt bad. I felt very far away. I felt like going home.
After hanging up, I even considered finding a flight home the next day and skipping the last two days of vacation. I was not a fun cruise ship friend for the rest of the night, so I went to bed early.
Enjoying Myself, For Real
The next morning, after we disembarked and established ourselves at our final hotel room, outside of which the white sandy beaches of San Juan beckoned, I called home with my newly reestablished cell service. “I’m never going on vacation without you again!” I yelled into the phone, and my dear husband shouted back,”Okay!”
I felt bad. I felt very far away. I felt like going home.
I reassured myself: My family was comfortable, safe and happy. I was thrilled to be in San Juan, where the food was amazing and everyone was friendly. Terri and I went Christmas shopping, and the next day we lay on the beach and did very, very little. I didn’t worry about my boys. I didn’t worry about the next day’s long travel. I didn’t worry about all the work I brought with me and neglected.
I was going to enjoy every last bit of my momcation. And maybe, just maybe, I thought I could carry that feeling back home with me, that feeling of being a whole person who doesn’t have to choose restaurants according to the tastes of an 8-year-old. A person who knows it’s completely fine to sit for half an hour on a park bench, not noticing that it’s started to drizzle. A person who feels no guilt about sitting on a beach drinking beer and eating fresh fish made by a couple with a shack restaurant.
Because that kind of trip isn’t going to happen again for a long, long time. And while my hope was to bring some of that magic back with me, the reality is that laundry, errands, driving, work, cooking, cleaning, bill paying and plenty more were waiting for me at home. It can be very, very hard to find the person I know I am when at home. It’s a mom thing, and probably a dad thing too. So we have to take these vacations, which are really more of a return, wherever and whenever we can.
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