Month 27: Fear of the Family Vacation

Vacationing with a small child is a risky undertaking. You might rue the day you ever booked your flight, or you may be pleasantly surprised at just how fun and relaxing your trip turns out to be. The kicker is, you never know which way it’ll go until you’re already too far from home to bail out.

Things did not look good for us the day before departure. The lady who takes care of our dog called to say she’d broken her leg and had to cancel. We called every kennel in the metropolitan area to find that they were a) booked solid or b) charged quadruple our regular rate. No way were we taking our carsick-prone pooch with us. Thank goodness for our fabulous friends T. & T. who agreed to dog sit. We owe them a lifetime supply of adult beverages.

Then, our neighbor stole our car. Wait, that’s not entirely accurate. Because C. and I are too nice and/or total morons, we agreed to loan one of our 2 cars to a neighbor in need. However, there was a miscommunication. We thought she was borrowing the car for a 24-hour period beginning when we handed her the keys. However, she understood that to mean any 24-hour period she felt like within a week.

By the third day, we were panicked. We had last-minute errands to run and we were about to leave the state for a week. And did I mention we had no way of contacting our neighbor? She finally called the night after we thought she was returning the car to say she was just around the corner. Super. Because we’re in Delaware. Lesson learned...

So anyway, we made the 6-hour drive to my parents’ house in decent time. Since we have never, ever pulled off “the transfer” (e.g., from carseat to crib), Miles woke up when we got there, realized it was dark and he was in a strange place, and promptly freaked out. I ended up sleeping on the twin bed next to him for half the night, then going back & forth between our room and his for the rest of the night. Lucky for me, his grandmother was happy to take the morning shift.

The thing is, when my mom volunteered to take Miles when he woke up, I don’t think she realized the full ramifications of her offer. For instance, that means 6 a.m., not 7:30. And this boy doesn’t wake up slowly, quietly perusing the paper while you brush your teeth and make the coffee. No, he hits the floor at full speed and top volume, demanding milk, toys, and TV, and don’t you DARE make a bathroom stop first! Poor Gram didn’t know what hit her.

The rest of the week passed in a happy blur of beach, barbecues, croquet, mini golf, ice cream, and more ice cream. The other set of grandparents and various aunts, uncles, and cousins took over the majority of childcare duties, leaving C. and I free to nap, read, and go for bike rides. It was fabulous. Why did we ever move so far away from our families? Oh, right, the job thing.

The only glitch in the program was that Miles was having such a good time with his cousins that he couldn’t bear to tear himself away for naps and bedtime. He would sob forlornly every time, crying “Where da girls go?” as his beloved playmates bid him good night. It was heartbreaking.

And yet, we were all happy to come home to our own house at the end of the week. Miles missed his toys, I missed my bed. But I sure didn’t miss the 6 a.m. wake-up call: “Mommeeee!! I want MILK!”

READ O’ THE WEEK: I’ve got 2 this week, both fiction. My first pick is “The Zygote Chronicles,” by Suzanne Finnamore. It’s an easy-to-read, entertaining, and truthful account of a 30-something’s first pregnancy.

I also adored “Love Walked In,” by Marisa de los Santos. So many novelists seem to subscribe to the philosophy that the more serious and depressing the topic, the better the book. Happily, that’s not the case with these enjoyable reads.