‘Don’t Leave Us with the Babies!’

Remember this AirTran commercial? Hilarious! I thought of it when C. and I went away recently to celebrate our 7th anniversary. This is the first time I’ve left my second-born overnight, and the first time we’ve gone away by ourselves since the last time, over 2.5 years ago when we only had one kid. (Can that be right?!)

Let me reiterate what I said then: IT IS SO WORTH IT. Do it! Go! Now!! Beg your friends, family, neighbors, really, anyone who passes a background check to babysit so you can go away with your sweetie for at least 24 consecutive hours.

You will need at least that long to progress through The 7 Stages of an Adults-Only Getaway:

Stage 1: Reluctance. I don’t know... Do you think your parents really want to watch the kids or are they just being polite? Can they really handle it? They haven’t been around a toddler in a while… We probably shouldn’t spend the money. I’m too tired to stay out late, anyway.

Stage 2: Acceptance. So THAT’S the hotel you booked? Wow! It looks amazing. And you got us a reservation at that new restaurant? I’ve been wanting to try that place. I’m sure your parents will be fine. The kids are really excited about them coming.

Stage 3: Preparation. I’ll just throw a couple things in a bag for myself. Now, I need to get out the diapers, the wipes, the diaper cream, the overnight diapers, the other diaper cream, his blanket and teddy bear, 2 sets of pajamas, a couple of outfits, a jacket, a hat, the diaper bag, sippy cups – and, oh, the stuff for bathtime… Then for the OTHER one, there’s his medicine and inhaler, his soccer stuff, his helmet in case he wants to ride his bike… and, oh yeah, what about meals?

Stage 4: Execution. OK, here we go. Bye, kids! Be good! I can’t believe we’re doing this. I’m sure I forgot something crucial. Did I show them where the pacifiers are? What about the toddler toothpaste? The neighbors’ number in case of emergency? I know, I know, I need to relax. They’ll be fine. It’s just for one night.

Stage 5: Adjustment. Oh, wow! Look at this room! Look at that BED! There must be 10 pillows on there. I can’t believe we get to sleep in tomorrow! No kids climbing into bed with us at 5 a.m. whining for breakfast. And did you see the bathroom?! I am SO taking a nice, long, hot shower – with the door closed and no rubber duckies underfoot. You brought wine? Well, OK, sure. I guess I’ll have a glass. Even if it is only 4 p.m.

Stage 6: Enjoyment. Oh, my god. This is SO relaxing. I can’t believe we can just lie here for as long as we want, drinking wine and listening to music. No diapers to change, no laundry to do. Is this what we used to do before we had kids? Man, this is the life. And when we get ready to go out I can take my time for once. No one rummaging through my make-up bag or scorching themselves on the flat-iron. Heaven!

Stage 7: Reacclimation. I don’t know what I liked best – the sleeping in, having someone else make the bed and clean the room, or being able to have a complete conversation without being interrupted to yell at someone or wipe their butt or cut up their food. Can you believe we’re actually sitting here calmly having breakfast and reading the paper?! I KNOW! I guess we should get back, though, huh? OK, after this next cup of coffee. Pass me the Style section, would you?

LINK O’ THE WEEK: We stayed at the Hotel Brexton in Baltimore, which is a newly renovated historic hotel that was once home to Duchess of Windsor Wallis Simpson. The rooms are really unique and beautifully decorated in hip, modern décor. My one quibble: some robes would have been nice to really amp up the relaxation quotient.

Alone Again, Unnaturally

We’re currently visiting my parents on the New England coast. It’s a beautiful place to be in the summertime -- beaches, rocky shoreline, sparkling water dotted with sailboats, open expanses of wind-blown grass, wild roses climbing over old stone walls.

Not that I’ve had much chance to enjoy it, mind you. I’ve been busy with my usual activities, like changing diapers, applying sunscreen, packing snacks, and visiting every playground in the area. I’m not complaining, exactly. It IS nice to have a change of scenery once in awhile. And the grandparents do take some of the pressure off me. Not least by serving delicious nightly meals with wine and candles (!!)

Yesterday I managed to go for a bike ride by myself. The baby was napping and his brother was coloring semi-quietly in his room. “Don’t come back until you’ve gone 5 miles,” ordered my mom. I’m not sure if she’s concerned about my fitness or my mental health. Either way, I appreciated the sentiment.

The first part of the ride, I half-noticed the scenery and the sea air while continuing my usual incessant brain-chatter: “I have to get back by 3:30 or the baby will sleep too long and won’t go to bed tonight, plus that’ll give me time to take a shower before we meet our friends at the playground, which I’m not sure I know how to find exactly and I wonder if they have bathrooms there and I have to remember to pack the green sippy cup that doesn’t leak and the sunblock that doesn’t run into the baby’s eyes and -- dammit! I forgot to get more Overnite diapers..."

Unconsciously, I pedaled to the edge of a park overlooking the ocean. I stopped for a water break and leaned my bike against a high stone wall. Far off, a boat silently trailed a streak of white, like sidewalk chalk on a driveway. I heard the drone of bees and noticed a woodchuck trundling along in the underbrush a few yards away. A butterfly circled lazily overhead. Aside from a guy mowing a lawn in the distance, I was alone. Alone!

You know in that Dr. Seuss book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” there’s that line, “Alone is something you’ll be quite a lot”? I’m guessing he didn’t mean when you have 2 small kids. Because I am alone about as often as I make a nice, home-cooked family meal with wine and candles. Which is to say, almost never.

Not in the car, not in the house. Not in my bed, not in the kitchen. And especially, not in the bathroom. Going to the grocery store by myself doesn’t count. It just doesn’t. Technically, I guess you could say I’m alone on the treadmill when I go to the gym, but come on!

And I am a person who needs my alone time. Cherishes it. CRAVES it. I get to eat an entire cookie in peace. Listen to my own music. Think my own thoughts. (That part is key.) Ironic, since for a good part of my life I had too much alone time. If only it was something you could stock up on, like toilet paper at Costco. But that works about as well as stocking up on sleep before the baby comes, doesn’t it?

I know, I know. There will come a time, far too soon, when I am alone again. When my kids don’t need me as much. When I can take solo bike rides whenever the mood strikes. I wonder... will I appreciate them half as much when the time comes?

Nah. Just like I never fully appreciated "sleeping in" till 7 a.m. on a Saturday before I had kids.

READ O’ THE WEEK: After reading this article and the NYT essay that sparked the book (writers, take note!), I picked up Laura Munson’s This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness I am really, really enjoying it.

The Pros & Cons of Vacationing with Kids

Obviously, I use the word “vacation” loosely. Many a mom has realized that a trip with kids is more like a work-release program than a relaxing getaway. But still, it’s nice to get outta Dodge now and then, isn’t it?

Especially if “Dodge” is a euphemism for Baltimore in August, otherwise known as the 7th Circle of Hell. Because I am nothing without my lists, I’ve compiled one of the pros and cons of the so-called “family vacation.”

Pro: Traveling solo with small kids sometimes gets you perks, like being ushered to the front of the baggage-check line, and extra pretzels.

Con: If you’re flying Southwest, or another airline that’s done away with pre-boarding, you may find yourself squeezing down the aisle with 2 kids and an enormous carry-on bag, bumping into half the passengers as you make your way toward an empty row in the back of the plane.

Pro: If your baby is under 2, you don’t have to pay for their seat.

Con: If it’s a full flight, you’re stuck with a heavy, wiggly, and possibly damp child in your lap.

Pro: Your 4 y.o. is at an age where he can be entertained for an entire flight with a coloring book and some markers.

Con: Your 17 m.o. is entering the Terrible Twos early, and screetches bloody murder throughout the entire flight at not being allowed access to the markers.

Pro: Your kids are surprisingly compliant at bedtime, even though they’re sleeping away from home.

Con: Your kids are so well-rested and eager to explore their new surroundings that they wake up at 5:45 a.m. each day, raring to go.

Pro: Your children’s grandparents shower them with gifts every time you visit.

Con: Gram and Gramps seem to favor obnoxiously loud toys, like fire trucks with deafening sirens and talking Elmo books.

Pro: Having relatives around means built-in childcare so you can go out to lunch with a friend, go to the gym, or go see a movie with your spouse.

Con: Because they’re family doing you a favor, not paid childcare providers, you feel guilty and rush home ASAP.

Pros: Trips to the beach, ice cream cones, playing outside for hours

Cons: Daily sunscreen applications, post-sugar meltdowns, nightly baths

Pro: You get away from your daily routine for a week.

Con: You’re away from your daily routine for a week. No Handy Manny at 7:30 every morning? No Go-Gurt and Cheerios for snack? No favorite chair for bedtime stories? For a whole WEEK?!

It’s a wonder we all survive. But we do, and we do it again the next year. I guess the pros must outweigh the cons, huh? Or more likely, like so many parts of motherhood, we just block it out the minute it's over.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Miles was introducing his Grandpa to Batman and his cast of characters, including the villain Dr. Doom. Grandpa remarked: “How come the bad guys always have PhD’s?”

Almost Like a Real Vacation

You’ll all be relieved to hear that we eventually rustled up an “African Dreams” CD, so we were not subjected to Christmas lullabies throughout our entire vacation. Just most of it.

And yes, I used the word “vacation” to describe our week away with 2 small kids. Not “trip” or “familial obligation” or “culturally sanctioned prison camp.” In fact, it might actually have been the closest thing to a real vacation since we had kids. Were it not for my 16-m.o., that is.

See, Riley’s a bit, shall we say, “high-maintenance.” Also high-energy, high-spirited, and high-volume. Good thing he’s a decent sleeper, or none of us would have survived this long. At least you can tell yourself that if you can just make it till 1 p.m., and then to 7:30 p.m., you might get a break.

But in between, watch out. I think my dad put it best when he said Riley’s like the Gerber baby on steroids. He may look like a sweet little cherub in a diaper, but turn your back for a second and he’s launching himself off the coffee table or rappelling up a barstool. Or tipping over chairs and hurling golf balls at the dog. Or emptying out the contents of the kitchen cabinets and balancing on top of an overturned spaghetti pot.

If we only had Miles, it would have been a semi-relaxing vacation. 4 is a good age. On the long car ride he amused himself with his handheld video game, art projects, and DVDs. He spent most of his time at my in-laws swimming in the pool and playing board games with his cousins. He can tell you when he’s thirsty or hot or tired (although he admits that rarely). He even went to the fireworks this year – and then fell asleep before the grand finale.

And then there’s Riley. He did OK in the car. We mostly kept him amused with endless snacks and kids’ CDs. He also kept busy by pulling his brother’s hair and playing tug-of-war with his blanket. But he was up EVERY SINGLE MORNING at 5:30 a.m. He manhandled my MIL’s knick-knacks, took every framed picture he could reach off her shelves, pulled up a loose floorboard that nobody knew was loose, squeezed through the deck railing, and even managed to fall through a narrow gap between the deck and a fence, where he remained stuck and screaming for 5 long seconds. (He’s fine.)

The definition of a vacation changes drastically when you have kids, there’s no question. Anxiety increases; expectations are lowered. When we were single, C. and I traveled to the Caribbean. At one place we stayed, they ran out of water temporarily, so we couldn’t take our post-beach, pre-dinner showers. Boo frickin’ hoo, right? What a crisis.

This vacation was a little different. I spent July 4 sitting home watching “When Love Is Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story” while Riley slept and everyone else went to the fireworks. Our “date night,” as it were, was grabbing lunch near the hospital when C. and I went to visit his dad, who’s recovering from complications from chemo. When we got to my parents’ for a couple days’ stay, an epic heat wave struck the Northeast and the beach was loaded with jellyfish. And did I mention they don’t have AC?

And yet, it was a good week. We got to see our families and did most of the stuff we usually do on vacation – swam, went to the beach, played mini golf, got ice cream, ate lobster, and argued over whose turn in was to get up with the baby.

The baby, who could usually be found bench-pressing an antique lamp or crushing someone’s sunglasses with his bare hands.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: “Grandpa? Did you ever go to Target?”
–Miles, who believes there’s only one Target in the world and that everyone should know about this prime destination

Christmas in July

Ah, family vacations. What’s not to love? You spend 3 days doing laundry, packing everybody up, and making lists upon lists. (Swim diapers? Check! Inhaler? Check! Extra wipes and plastic placemats? Check, check!) Then you pile in the car, set off, and immediately discover you forgot several crucial items.

Like, say, the car charger for the portable DVD player and the lullaby CDs -– items which are your only CHANCE for surviving a 7+ hour drive with 2 small children.

We set off last night after dinner, naively hoping that the kids would fall asleep in the car. Around 10 p.m., the baby finally nodded off – almost 3 HOURS past his normal bedtime! And that was only because we finally rustled up a “Baby’s First Noel” CD from the depths of the glove box. “Away in a manger…”

The 4 y.o. fought off sleep thanks to his new handheld video game that he’s already obsessed with after only 3 days. Goodbye, active childhood; hello ADD and childhood obesity! Anyway, it kept him busy.

Good thing, because we got lost somewhere in New Jersey trying to find our hotel and ended up going 10 miles out of our way on a road that did not allow any U-turns or left turns, and probably would have ended up in Canada if it weren’t for a kind police officer who led us to a “jug handle,” which is apparently New Jersey for “the only friggin’ way to turn around on our endless one-way roads.” “Silent night, holy night…”

We finally found the hotel, which was a fairly swanky boutique hotel that C. found on Priceline. We carry in our groggy, pajama-clad offspring, who promptly become fully alert and begin to sprint around the room. We finally wrestle them into bed, deciding that 1 kid and 1 parent per bed is the best arrangement. “It came upon a midnight clear…”

C. had the pleasure of sharing a bed with Riley, whose nocturnal acrobatics led to a less-than-restful night’s sleep. While I, in the other bed, was kicked repeatedly in the ribs by Kung-Fu Miles. At 6 a.m., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the baby woke us all with his clarion voice. Then we discovered we’d carried both kids in barefoot from the car. So our shoeless hooligans ran screeching through the halls on our way out. Hmm, wonder why the concierge didn’t say they look forward to our next stay?

We were back on the road by 8:30 a.m., sure that the kids would pass out from exhaustion and donuts. By 11 a.m., we had resorted to “These 3 Kings.”

When we FINALLY arrived at my in-laws’, the baby was rested enough to get right to work proving just how un-babyproof their house is. He dismantled a baby gate, got hold of a loose screw, found a pin buried in the carpet, knocked over some china figurines, and chewed on a plug in under 5 minutes.

Now it’s naptime -– I mean, what SHOULD be naptime. But instead, Riley has been screaming in the Pack ‘n’ Play upstairs in a too-bright bedroom for 40 min. Time to bring out the big guns. That’s right: “Have yourselves a Merry little Christmas now…”

The 5 Stages of a Family Roadtrip

You know how you feel the morning after a wild night of partying? (Think waaaay back, now.) You can’t believe how stupid you were to drink that much and stay out that late and boy, are you paying for it with a hangover from hell. You swear you will never again do something so foolish.

Well, I feel the same way after each trip to visit my extended family.


C. and I live 6 states away from our parents. The 7-hour drive has never been a picnic, but add 2 kids and an extra half-dozen stops along the way and it becomes a NIGHTMARE. Literally. The night before we leave I toss and turn dreaming of all the horrible accidents and traffic jams and germy rest stops and screaming meltdowns the trip might bring.

In fact, we’ve only attempted it one other time since Riley was born. But my FIL is turning 70 and, well, that seemed like a good enough reason to try it again. During the long, long, LONG drive, I had time to reflect on the 5 stages of a family roadtrip:

1) Anticipation. It will be good to see everyone. They won’t believe how much the kids have grown. And Riley HAS become a much better baby the older he’s gotten. He doesn’t scream or throw up nearly as often. Plus, Miles is SO looking forward to seeing his grandparents and cousins. Maybe the trip won’t be so bad.

2) Excitement. Off we go! The car is packed with snacks, drinks, toys, music, and plenty of DVDs for the portable player. The kids are in good moods, everyone’s healthy and moderately well-rested, and the sun is shining. This is actually kind of fun.

3) Irritation. The sun glare is unbearable. The brakes are making a weird crunching noise. And if I have to listen to another one of my husband’s skull-jarring rock bands or insipid kids’ CDs I will SCREAM. Wait? What? A 5-mile backup due to construction?! Are you freaking KIDDING me?!

4) Giddiness. Who WERE those people who said, “The kids will probably sleep the whole way”? Not in my world. My 3 y.o. is kicking my seat and shouting nonsensical phrases over and over -- “Take a glance at Mr. Pants!” And my poor, overtired 1 y.o. is giggling hysterically. His laugh IS really cute, though...

5) Recovery. 8 hours after we began our journey, we stumble into the house in a wave of snack wrappers, empty coffee cups, coloring books, and dirty laundry. We immediately split off in different directions, some of us collapsing on the couch, some of us sprinting deliriously around the house. We made it. We survived. We will never -- I repeat, NEVER – attempt that hellish trip again, so help me GPS.

At least, not until the next important family occasion.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: Miles: “We should take a plane.” Dad (driving): “Why?” Miles: “Because the plane knows how to get there.”

READ O’ THE WEEK: Pug in a Truck is a really cute book about, you guessed it. Introduces kids to trucker lingo like “dragon wagon” (tow truck) and “ground clouds” (fog).

Flying Solo...with 2!

It’s the heat, I tell you. And the humidity. They’re making me crazy. Crazy enough to attempt ... traveling with both kids BY MYSELF!!

I know, I know. It’s that bad. I can’t take one more week of late-August rainforest conditions with nothing to do but wander from air-conditioned place to air-conditioned place. There are only so many times you can go to Chick-fil-A, the mall, and the library, people. C. is putting in extra-long hours at work, Miles has watched every movie in the Disney collection, and school doesn’t start for over a week. So, I’m left with no choice but to fly up north to my parents’ for some relief.

I’ve been scrambling around for days trying to find birth certificates, gather up medications and supplies, and doing enough laundry to clothe a small African nation. I’m stressing out in advance over to Pull-Up or not to Pull-Up on the plane, getting through security with the same children and stroller I started out with, and installing car seats on my own. I can’t even THINK about flight delays, diaper blowouts, or lost blankies. Let’s not even go there.

After our last vacation, I swore I would never go anywhere ever again with two small children. I must have a short memory, because here I am, attempting it again. I keep meeting (older) people who say, “Oh, I used to travel all the time with THREE kids! You’ll be fine!” But then when I grill them about how they managed public bathrooms or some other potential challenge, they draw a blank. Thanks. Real helpful.

When Miles was a baby, I was most nervous about having to breastfeed in public when we traveled. I was sure someone would refuse to sit next to us or kick us off the plane. (You’ve heard the stories. It happens!) But the worst thing that happened was when Miles whipped off the blanket I had draped over his head, causing a minor Janet Jackson incident. I was mortified, but in reality I doubt anyone even noticed. And now, of course, I’d be THRILLED if everyone left the extra seat next to us empty. More room to spread out!

Actually, I just remembered: that wasn’t the worst thing that happened while traveling with Miles as a baby. This was. Let’s just hope and pray that this flight's smoother, shall we?

Anyway, I’m sure it will be fine. If not fine, then manageable. If not manageable, then at least we’ll SURVIVE. Right? Right??

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I didn’t know Southwest offered child fares for kids over 2. It’s only like $6 off the Anytime fare, but it’s something. Also, they do pre-boarding now between the A and B groups. Personally, I think they’d do better to load up us families first and minimize the chaos, but hey, it’s your call, Southwest!

SHOUT-OUT: Congrats to my friend T, a third-time new mom! Welcome to the world, baby Vivianna!

It's Only Money

My uncle said the best thing the other week when we were on vacation. Everyone was debating whether or not to do this activity or that activity, since some of them were kind of pricey. (And by everyone, I mean those without small children who weren’t chained to the house due to naps and feeding schedules.) Finally he said, “OK, let’s do it. It’s only money.”

It may come as a surprise that this phrase resonated with me, given that I am usually Miss Frugal Pennypincher. (Sounds nicer than Miss Thrifty McCheapskate, doesn’t it?) But I realized that sometimes in my concern about money, I overlook the value of an experience.

Here’s an example: We didn’t join a pool this year. We had a second kid, and I couldn’t fathom how I could manage two by myself at the pool. But mostly, I didn’t want to spend the money and then feel guilty about not going. What I forgot about, though, is just how much Miles loves the water. I mean, the kid is a fish. He loves, loves, LOVES being in the water. It could be the ocean, lake, pool, or a puddle on the sidewalk. He doesn’t care, as long as he’s wet.

At the lake one day on our vacation it was pretty breezy and not very hot out. Miles’ lips were blue and his teeth were chattering so much he could barely say: “N-n-no, Mom, I don’t want to get out! I’m not c-c-cold!!” OK, buddy, if you say so.

We’ve been lucky this summer because we have several friends who’ve been very generous about inviting us to their pools. So Miles has gotten his swimming fix. Yes, it’s a hassle putting sunscreen on everybody and packing all the towels, clothes, toys, floaties, snacks, etc. we need. And I wouldn’t say it’s a piece of cake nursing a wiggly baby under a towel on a lounge chair or wrestling a 3-y.o. in and out of a wet bathing suit so he can use the bathroom every 10 min. (That’s what happens when you drink the pool water. But, hey, at least he’s not peeing in the pool!)

But the kids love it. Even Riley, who screeched like a cat in heat the first time I dipped his tiny toes into the pool. (But really, when does he NOT?) The next couple times, though, I realized he was shrieking with glee. He LIKED the water! I like the pool, too. I’ve even embraced the swim skirt. It sure beats staying cooped up in the air conditioning watching TV all day, or -- God forbid -- braving the scorching desert that is the playground in August.

Money can’t buy happiness, but it CAN buy some summer fun and save a little bit of Mom’s sanity when school’s out. So next year, I’ll grit my teeth, write a check for the pool membership fee, and tell myself, “It’s only money.”

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Landsend.com is having a clearance sale with up to 65% summer stuff, including kids’ UPF swim shirts and cover-ups.

Survivor: Deep Creek Lake

There was a moment during our vacation -- specifically, when I was up at 4:30 a.m. with the baby for the third consecutive day -- when I seriously considered taking off in the car and checking into a motel by myself. We were staying in a house with a whole bunch of my relatives. Surely they would all come together to help my husband raise my abandoned children. Someone? Anyone?

But then I remembered that I had no idea where my car keys were, and next to no chance of finding them amidst 16 people’s stuff in the dark. Also, I can’t take out the kids’ car seats by myself. And I’m not THAT irresponsible!

The house we rented was amazing. A huge, new 6-bedroom, 7-bath place with a big backyard that looked out over an inlet. Imagine sunsets and swaying marsh grasses. Tranquil waters and cool breezes. A hot tub and fire pit. A sunny deck and a shady porch with rocking chairs. The very picture of relaxation, right?

Maybe, except for the 16 PEOPLE (!!) under one roof, ranging in age from 5 mos. to 74 years. Let me just say that while toddlers get a bad rap, they are certainly not the only ones who have trouble with whining, sharing, being flexible, and controlling their tempers. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

For the most part, it was a great week. Miles and his 2.5-year-old cousin loved running amok throughout the house and yard, playing outside, swimming, and going out in the canoe. The weather was often cool and rainy, but it was still preferable to the muggy, buggy inferno that is Baltimore in late summer. I loved seeing my California relatives, whom I don’t get to visit nearly enough, and it was great to have extra pairs of eyes and hands to help out with the kids. In particular, 13-year-old K. was an amazing mother’s helper all week. She got puked on and pooped on and had her hair pulled and still held out her arms for the baby each morning.

Speaking of mornings, they started very, very, VERY early. Our family of 4 stayed in one smallish room. Baby Riley took that to mean he had all-night access to the milk bar and willing playmates at 11 p.m., 2 a.m. and 4:30 a.m. Since I was desperate for him not to wake his brother or the rest of the household, I’d dive to retrieve him from his Pack ‘n’ Play at the first whimper. And don’t think he didn’t take full advantage, people.

He was usually up for the day about 6 a.m. I guess no one told him you’re supposed to sleep late on vacation. He’d start exercising his lungs, yodeling so loudly he could be heard across the lake. The one bad thing about the house was the great room, a large open space in the center of the house with high ceilings that amplified his shrieks. I’m sure my 23-y.o. cousin sleeping on the couch upstairs loved that. Some mornings I handed off the baby to his grandparents downstairs. The second day my dad said, “How about we take him AFTER 6:30 tomorrow?” Sure, if you stop making HALF-DECAF coffee!!! (See? I was one of the complainers!)

So, no, we didn’t sleep much, but we did eat much. Each couple/family took turns making dinner and some breakfasts and the meals were fabulous. I also got in some yoga (outdoors!), a massage, some kayaking, and a couple turns in the hot tub, so the trip did have some vacation-like elements.

And as a mother of 2 age 3 and under, I’ll take what I can get. If you’re going to get woken up at all hours and spend the week doing laundry, preparing meals, and changing diapers anyway, might as well do it in a different location and with different people now and then, right?

LINK O’ THE WEEK: This week renewed my interest in home cooking. Check out this episode of Oprah where celebrity chefs moved in with frazzled families to show them how to save money and cook tasty meals at home. Some of Cat Cora’s recipes sound super-tasty and easy.

Our Vacation in Photos

Until I can come up with the words to accurately describe our trip -- and recover from it a bit -- here are a few pictures from the week:

Is there a moose on my head?

Me: "Only grown-ups can paddle the canoe." Miles: "I AM a grown-up!"

Let's see who can make the biggest splash!

This is the only time I've slept all week.

Vacation Trepidation

We’re gearing up for our first vacation as a family of 4. Though, as a wise but jaded friend of mine once put it, “Once you have kids it’s not a vacation. It’s just travel.” It’s true, vacation generally brings to mind sleep, relaxation, and fruity umbrella drinks. If we’re lucky, we might get the drinks. But even those will be limited for me since I’m breastfeeding. Tequila shots and nursing bras just don’t go together, you know?

We’re renting a big house on a lake with my extended family. There will be 16 of us – including a 3-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 5-month-old. My poor relatives don’t know what they’re in for. Especially the single ones. I fear for my cousin and his girlfriend, especially. If they’re even considering marriage and parenthood, I don’t want to be the one to scare them off for good. But I can’t promise anything.

My mother has assured me that there will be plenty of volunteers to help with the kids. But what these well-meaning folks probably don’t realize is that their help may be needed pre-dawn, before COFFEE, even. They may be called upon for potty assistance, they may have to break up squabbles over Play-Doh, they may encounter poop where they never imagined poop could be found (on the baby’s SHOULDER?!). It’s not all butterfly kisses and bedtime stories, people. You’ve gotta be prepared to get your hands dirty.

Nobody better THINK they’re going to ease into the day with a cup of hot coffee and NPR. (I’m talking to you, Dad.) No, sir. Expect to hit the ground running with Dora or Blue’s Clues blaring in the background. Your coffee will go stone cold as you scramble to accommodate the needs of 3 exceptionally vocal short people. This one wants a waffle, that one wants toast, and that one wants to chew on the newspaper. But no, you cut her toast wrong! And he wanted CREAM CHEESE, not butter!! And watch out, the baby’s about to knock over your juice! Relaxed yet?

Then it’s time for a full day of recreational activities: Whitewater rafting! Jet-skis! Biking! Hiking! Right? Wrong! Too dangerous, too strenuous, too hot, too cold, or simply incompatible with the kids’ nap schedules. Sorry! Splashing in the backyard wading pool is about as adventurous as it gets with little ones.

In the evening, everyone might be looking forward to a leisurely happy hour, a late dinner, and some good conversation around the campfire. Wrong again! The kids have to be fed, bathed, and put to bed in a timely fashion unless we want a group meltdown. And since we’re in a strange place, none of them will go down easily. And when they’re FINALLY quiet, everyone else better damn well be, too. Pity the boisterous drunkard who raises their voice and wakes the baby! EVERYONE will suffer for their carelessness!

Oh, yeah, this’ll be a fun vacation. How can it NOT be? Just seeing the look on my mom’s face when I hand her the baby at 5:30 a.m. will be enjoyment enough for me. Maybe I’ll even make my cousin change a dirty diaper by himself.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Know how to make a Bahama Mama Sunrise? How about a Slammin’ Sammy? Find 700+ cocktail recipes here.

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.