Recently my wife and I were on vacation with our two boys. While we would like to go someplace exotic, such as the Outer Banks or New England, (these are exotic by our standards), we once again found ourselves in Ocean City, Md.
While I love the beach and everything it has to offer, my wife is not a big fan, but like the trooper she is, goes every year because she knows how much I like it. The draw to Ocean City, versus some of those other exotic places, is that it is free. For thirty plus years, my parents have owned a condominium. This has probably been one of the greatest mixed blessings of my life. I have used it many times over the years, and found it to be familiar and comfortable. The primary drawback is of course, that my family is often there with me. This situation has become more pronounced now that I have children of my own.
My mother is overbearing, caring and engaging. She is a wonderful person but she and I are prone to confrontations. My wife is much more reserved but intrinsically sensitive to her parenting skills, as most parents probably are. While my wife and I were excited about exposing our boys to the beach, the looming concern in our minds was the “issue” of my mother. More specifically, we were wondering how much of her we were going to be able to take. Our vacation was in fact cut short by one day. We stayed away for six days and just realized we were worn out.
Ironically, my mother had very little to do with this decision.
My boys loved the beach. It could not have gone any better. Every day they played on the beach, came inside and had lunch, took naps on occasion, went out every night and came home tired and ready for the next day. I took them kayaking twice, put them on a surfboard, walked them up the beach, and introduced them to the art of kite flying. I don’t think we missed a single Kodak moment, and my wife took the pictures to prove it.
But we were tired.
A few days before we left my wife suggested we cut the trip early. I, like the jerk that I am, took this to mean she was too frustrated to go on and needed help. This was more time than we had ever spent with boys, as they are in school every day. I feared that family vacations would forever be cut short because she just couldn’t spend that much time with her own sons. And there I was, two days later, saying the exact same thing.
I had just come out of the surf and was driving up the road, picturing myself carrying the chairs, umbrellas and toys, to the beach, all with my son on my shoulders. And I had to throw up the white flag. I called her to suggest we pack it up and go home. She didn’t point out the irony or hypocrisy of my suggestion. She simply agreed and got our things together. Two hours later we were on the road.
It was not my parents that brought us to our knees, it was our beautiful, energetic, little sand crabs. Someday I will have to tell my mother, it’s not you, it’s me. In a way this is liberating. I am finally responsible for my own limitations and can no longer blame my mother, but will continue to do so whenever possible.