Do you remember the feeling you had leading up to school vacation? The overwhelming excitement that brought you to the last day before a break and the sheer joy that filled you as you exited through those double doors? The world was your oyster and you had nine whole days to find your pearl.
Though I was never a kid who hated school (yes, I was one of THOSE people), I still reveled in the freedom of school break. We rarely traveled, but it didn’t matter. I had nine straight days without screaming alarms or looming deadlines and no one cared if I stayed in my pajamas the entire time. OK, probably my parents cared, but I was the third kid so as long as I didn’t leave the house naked, they stayed pretty quiet about my wardrobe.
I’m finding that as a parent, school break isn’t quite as liberating.
Sure, it’s nice to not have to wake up an ornery teenager. And I appreciate the lightened chore load; fewer lunches to pack, fewer clean socks to find, and a decrease in the amount of driving to school activities. However, the unencumbered freedom of yore is now a little bit encumbered.
First, there’s the guilt of not going on vacation.
“All my friends went away, you know.” Yes, I know. They’ve all flown off to Bora Bora with their rock star parents and you’re stuck here with us, the worst parents who ever lived. Because Dad and I definitely don’t want to be lying in the sand, with a giant piña colada in each hand. Unfortunately for all of us, we need to house, feed, clothe and educate you.
Then there’s the fact that we’re still working, much to the chagrin of our offspring.
“Can I get a ride over to my friend’s house?”
“Sure, as soon as I’m done with work.”
“Oh. You’re working? So how long do I have to wait?”
“Until I’m done.”
But we’re not all bad. We try to come up with something fun at least once each break. To that end, we have a membership to the American Museum of Natural History. When I was a kid, we only went to the museum once and I still remember the thrill of walking under the hulking skeletons and the feeling that I could spend a week walking through those halls, without ever seeing it all.
My kids are not quite so impressed.
Child one: “Can I bring a friend?”
Child two: “Do I have to buy my own stuff at the gift shop?”
And for me, things are a bit different now, too. The excitement of riding the train across the island is replaced with the sticker shock of paying for five round trip tickets. The freedom of gliding along on the rails is replaced by my strict instructions to each child to not touch anything and randomly spraying them with hand sanitizer, just in case. The child-like wonder I once felt at the diversity and enormity of Penn Station is replaced by an obsessive need to keep counting the heads of my charges, whilst simultaneously scanning our surroundings for possible kidnappers. I was exhausted before we even got to the subway.
Once at the museum, my inner dialogue was a dizzying ramble of streaming consciousness, “What is that over there? Dinosaur or bird? I suppose I could go read the placard. But there’s a lot of people between me and the dino/bird. And it’s kind of far. Maybe I’ll ask the kids to go check. They’re not carrying this heavy backpack. Why is it so heavy anyway? Aside from my wallet, keys, glasses, reusable shopping bags, mints, hand sanitizer, phone charger, sewing and first aid kits, I don’t remember packing much. Maybe I can sit down on this thing. It says, ‘do not sit.’ Is that a comment for this particular exhibit or am I being judged by the museum planner, ‘don’t be so lazy lady, it’s only one day.’ No need to get snippy. My legs are tired. NYC really isn’t a day trip, even if my husband thinks it is. There’s like four hours of travel for a few hours of my kids asking for overpriced food or needing a bathroom 10 seconds into a subway ride. Is that a movie theater? With seats? In the dark? We are totally going in there to immerse ourselves in the life of the giant sloth. Or, take a nap.”
I am an active woman. I work out. I consider myself strong and fit. But there is something about a day trip to the city that sucks the life right out of me, like I’ve been donating blood for 16 hours without any juice or snack, like I’ve followed a toddler around the edge of a pool all day, like I’ve just finished running a 5K and there’s no alcohol.
Next year, I think I’ll get a membership to a vineyard, instead. They can Google the hell out of the Titanosaur. And maybe Bora Bora, too.
I’m thinking I should downsize some of the items in my so-heavy-it-sometimes-sends-shooting-pain-into-my-neck purse. I refuse to forgo my first aid kit, though. I love this one from Indefinitely Wild that fits in an Altoid tin (although I’m pretty sure I could never drink water out of a condom). Looks like I found my weekend project. Happy Mother’s Day to me!
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Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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