Your Kids Are Going to Leave You
A story about vacation expectations.
This spring I found that I needed a vacation. I was burned out and sick of working in my bedroom and living in a 2-mile radius in Brooklyn. Needless to say, I was very excited that our family was hopping on a plane destined for the Caribbean. We were going to one of those resorts where kid camp is provided and the parents take advantage, so your kids are surrounded by lots of other kids, not just dumped off in some game room for the day. It’s not uncommon to see children of every age lined up and walking around the property heading from archery to kayaking to trapeze school.
Vacation camp is critical because as anyone can tell you, a vacation with kids is not a vacation. It’s a family trip. You’re still feeding, clothing, nagging, and sunscreening your kids. Meanwhile, you’re also trying to relax, maybe read a book without having to repeat the same paragraph over and over because your kid keeps interrupting you by shouting from the pool, “Mom. Look at me. Watch this! Did you see it?”
Going into this trip I had expectations. Lots of them. The last time we went to this resort, the kids loved the camp, they loved that they were old enough to sign themselves in and out and wander the property. Grown-up time and relaxation happened.
I went on this trip believing we’d have the same experience.
Before you think of me as the worst mom on the planet for wanting my kids to “beat it” while on vacation, I’d like to say these two things in my defense. First, I would not have minded if they hung around us if they weren’t currently starring in a show they wrote and directed called, “The Bickersons.” I mean I don’t give two craps whose fault it was that Henry forgot his socks for his crocks (and it was Henry’s fault) I just want the arguing to stop.
Secondly, did I mention I needed a vacation? I know. Who doesn’t? But I had this vision in my head of how this trip was going to be. The kids would head off to the Teen Club after breakfast. Mary and I would leisurely wander over to our palapa where we would commence reading trashy beach read books. I had a James Patterson & Dolly Parton book all queued up on my Kindle. I mean come on! At some point, we would both fall asleep in horribly unflattering positions on our beach chairs.
I could just see our whole vacation.
I was blindsided on the first day by the pool when my daughter declared, “I don’t know if I’m feeling the Teen Club this year.” My son, who never wants to do anything on his own, immediately began parroting her 13-year-old ennui.
“What? Why?” I blurted out. I could feel my vacation dreams dying.
My daughter tilted her head slightly to the side in that teenage way that says, “You couldn’t possibly understand.” She then began listing reasons why camp was less enticing than our last trip. She wouldn’t have friends, all the other kids would only speak French, and she just knew the cliques already existed. After she was done, my son chimed in with ‘Yeah.”
I was going to need a minute, or perhaps a half a day, to adjust my expectations and figure out how not to yell at the Bickersons for wanting me to stand in the pool and throw a ball back and forth for 45 minutes when I really wanna be standing in line at the pool bar awaiting a frothy cocktail.
I took some deep breaths, and I had a talk with myself about how their childhoods go by fast, and I need to be present. I should see this as a blessing. Blah blah blah. We came up with a compromise where they’d give us three hours of uninterrupted time. During that time, they had to let us be.
I could live with this.
So, I stopped suggesting the Teen Club. I’m not a saint though. There was an entire day where I repeatedly said things like, “Well if you’re bored, there’s always the Teen Club. Ok. Ok. I’m not going to say it again.”
Yeah, I said it again. But for real, then I let it go.
The second I let it go, our resident ring leader of the Bickersons, Maxine casually dropped into the conversation, “I’m probably going to do the Teen Club tomorrow.” This was followed by “Yeah, I was going to do that too” from Henry.
Like he invented the Teen Club.
I could feel a tingle in my heart area. “Don’t react. Don’t let them know you want this.”
“Oh? Ok. Cool.” I said and then casually picked up my book. Am I acting casual enough? Can they see that I want this?
I glanced at Mary who was currently picking imaginary lint off her bathing suit, cool as a cucumber.
When the kids wandered off to get a snack, Mary and I clutched hands with more love and excitement than we did the day we got married. Vacation expectations were back on!
The next morning, Mary and I packed some bags filled with sunscreen for the kids, and they made their way to the Teen Club. I hit the bar for a rum punch with a Pina Colada backer, came back to my chair, and said to Mary, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
She said “Shhhh. Don’t jinx it.” Before passing out for 45 minutes on her chair.
It was a glorious day. We laughed. We connected. We reminded ourselves of stories from when we vacationed alone before kids. We chatted about what our lives would look like when they go to college.
Then 5 pm rolled around and the kids weren’t back. We got up from our chairs and wandered about to collect them so we could go back to the room, shower, and change for dinner. We found Henry. The kid who loves to tell us that he doesn’t make friends easily was on the basketball court with his cool British Besties 4 Lyfe. Maxine was deeply entrenched in a volleyball tournament. What? The girl who earlier this year lectured me about why volleyball stinks, was currently serving.
I was very confused by these new personality traits, but moved things along because, well… I was hungry. We pulled them both aside so as not to embarrass them in front of their new friends.
“It’s time to head back and get ready for dinner.”
“Oh. Well, I’m in this tournament. Go ahead. I’ll just eat with my friends.”
Henry chimed in. “Yeah.”
Again, what?
I mean I wanted them to be away from me, but I assumed we’d be back together for dinner and the rest of the evening. The more we asked them to come back, the more it was clear they would prefer their own plans for the evening.
I found myself in the position to once again readjust my expectations. Apparently, these kids have a mind of their own. That’s annoying.
Off they went for dinner followed by hide and seek at the Teen Club while Mary and I hung out in the room. This was the first of what’s sure to be many nights waiting for our kids to come home.
I was on a roller coaster of emotions. I was outraged at the idea of losing my vacation time, then they gave me exactly what I wanted, and now I was all, “I can’t believe they don’t want to spend any time with us.”
Pick a lane, Robin. Pick a lane.
I got to thinking about a parenting book I recently found called, “Untangled: Guiding Teenage Girls Through the Seven Transitions into Adulthood.” I’m only a few chapters in, but I’ve already felt like it’s relevant to both of my kids.
Early on, the author uses an analogy about how you’re a pool and the water is the world and your kid is swimming around in the world. Sometimes they’ll grab onto the wall (you) because they’re scared. They stay as long as they need to feel safe before heading back out into the world. But for the parents, the shoving off from the side of the pool can feel violent and abrupt like “Where’d they go?”
Tell me about it.
I want my kids to be out there and to be strong, independent people who are fearless in their lives. It’s one of the reasons we chose to vacation at a resort with camps. We’ve always felt that it would be good for both of us to get some away time, and it would foster independence in our children.
I want my kids to be happy.
I want some Robin autonomy back as well. But, I think I want the transition to be slow and measured and in my own time and in my way.
But every time my kids forcefully push themselves off the metaphoric pool wall, I’m reminded that it’s not going to be in my time or how I want it, but it is going to happen.
Best to just brace myself for the kickoff, then look inward to who I am and what I want for my future. That includes looking across the table at my lovely wife, Mary, and saying, “Hello again. There you are.”