Every so often, when I find myself wide awake in the middle of the night, I can’t resist a little scrolling through Pinterest. I’m on the hunt for inspiration for my “Escape” board, dreaming of luxurious getaways in stunning locations. You know the kind—those exotic retreats typically enjoyed by ex-presidents who, after their tenure, seek a month of undisturbed relaxation, free from the weight of the world’s issues. Sadly, my budget doesn’t align with those fantasies. But once I snap back to reality, I’m not too disappointed.
A picturesque beach, with its azure waters and a plush cabana, sounds heavenly. Just picture me sipping coconut rum mixed with a splash of juice. However, the thought of shaving my legs and waxing certain areas is less appealing. And let’s not even discuss the swimsuit fitting process, or the repercussions of sand getting into places that it shouldn’t. With all these inconveniences, can we really call it a vacation? It’s no wonder people often say they need a vacation from their vacation—travel can be a hassle. There’s the endless planning, packing, and the chaotic act of traveling itself, which usually feels like a public nightmare you endure twice. And then there are the appointments for nails and hair, because heaven forbid I show up with roots in front of strangers I’ll never encounter again.
Adding kids or a partner into the mix? Well, that transforms a much-anticipated getaway into a more complex version of my everyday life—complete with planned activities but sans the comforts of home.
My ideal vacation, the one I truly crave, doesn’t involve any of that nonsense. Just me. Perhaps with the occasional interaction for room service. I wouldn’t need to travel far or splurge excessively. A decent hotel in a local business district, devoid of bedbug reports, is all I require.
I could even forgo a scenic view if it means having blackout curtains to block out the world. These curtains would be perfect for lengthy naps and keeping my pants-less wanderings under wraps from anyone outside.
Now, I may sound low-maintenance, but I do have some expectations. A clean bathroom is non-negotiable. If the previous guest’s stay ended in disaster, I’d prefer not to witness the aftermath. I have a strong preference for the smell of bleach—just enough to keep things fresh without needing to crack a window.
Despite being alone, I demand a king-size bed. I want to experience sleeping without a toddler’s foot wedged between my face and upper lip. Also essential: a complimentary breakfast that doesn’t consist of stale pastries and unripe bananas. At the very least, I need a waffle maker. A fridge and microwave in my room would also be fantastic, allowing me to stash away snacks and reheat my second breakfast after a leisurely post-first-breakfast nap.
Aside from the daily waffle run, I’ll be staying put. I’ll leave my family with a fake hotel name and number to ensure I’m undisturbed. I might even disconnect the phone to keep the front desk from calling about noise complaints while I blissfully enjoy my shows—definitely not kid-friendly.
Along with my fabricated hotel info, I’ll leave a note for my family stating that I won’t return until the dishwasher is functioning, the bathrooms are clean, and the bedrooms smell like something other than dirty socks. This is my vacation, not theirs. I refuse to make the rookie mistake of letting them slack off while I’m away, only to return to a chaotic home. I might even suggest what they can have baking in the oven for my return.
As I sprawl across that king-sized bed, completely undisturbed and perhaps surrounded by snack bags, I’ll take a moment to appreciate my family for driving me to this much-needed break. Without their occasional chaos, I might not have mustered the courage to pack a bag, give my partner a high-five at the door, and dash out with my middle fingers held high. Then, it’s back to indulging in Oreos without sharing and binge-watching HBO.
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Summary
In a humorous and relatable exploration of motherhood, the author shares the desire for a vacation free from family obligations. She paints a picture of a dream getaway that prioritizes personal comfort over luxury, emphasizing the need for solitude amidst the chaos of parenting.