It’s 3:30 a.m., and I’m standing on my front porch watching for my getaway car. The tires roll up the driveway, and I hustle to the car with my luggage and no one else’s. I feel almost naked with just one bag. As I open the door, I’m greeted by my friend’s smiling face, which I mirror back immediately but nervously. I feel like a teenager sneaking out of the house as I shut the car door quietly while holding my breath. Please, please no one hear me.
The whole drive to the airport, I feel like the police are going to run us down and take us back in handcuffs to our families. Back to our messy houses full of laundry and dishes. Back to life as a domesticated servant. Don’t take us back. Please. Please, no.
To our luck, no one catches us and we make it to the airport serenaded by the Backstreet Boys and other musical geniuses of our time. We check in seamlessly and find vacant seats in the boarding area where we proceed to stare at the cement walls in complete peace. Those walls never looked so beautiful.
The flight there is quiet and calm. When crying fills the air, it’s not our problem and we just smile and hit recline on our seats. What to do with our time? The possibilities are endless. We watch movies. We read. We eat Biscoff cookies and peanuts. We do nothing.
The event we traveled for was an annual conference for a national moms’ group. Walking around the resort the first day, it was blatantly obvious who was there for the conference because they were moms just like us–fellow escapees. These women had a particular look to them. Like us, they were all basking in newfound freedom, similar to inmates recently let out on probation.
Many moms we talked with were living up their time “off duty.” Some took the conference more seriously than others, attending every session, taking notes, and getting there early to save seats. Then, you had us, sometimes slipping in late after buying a ridiculously high-priced latté from the resort because darn it, we were going to enjoy this trip. We also may or may not have skipped a session or two to lay by the pool, carefully choosing seats away from anyone under the age of 25 to enjoy fries and criminally-priced “mommy drinks.”
A Facebook group had been set up for all the attendees of the conference. It was a place for people to connect before, during, and after the event. A common theme that arose was how much people were missing their kids. Lots of #missmybabies and “can’t wait to get home to snuggle them,” accompanied by cute kid pics. My friend and I would read these posts and just stare at each other confused like, “are we horrible moms because we DON’T feel this way?” People were counting the minutes to get home as we were counting the ways that we could could end up delayed, thus extending our trip. What were we missing? Could we not miss our kids and still love them? Could we still be good moms, too?
There’s a correct answer to that and it is YES. Yes, I went on a trip, and I did not miss my kids. It was freeing to be away. It was delightful to have time alone to think, relax, and do what I wanted for a few days. I had no idea what I was needing so much until I got away– and you should, too.
Plan a trip and go. You deserve it.
