Updated: Dec. 1, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 16, 2015
Stepping onto that plane for a business trip brings a whirlwind of emotions: a mix of dread and thrill. Saying goodbye is the hardest part, as I brace myself for the quivering lips and watery eyes of my kids, perfectly timed to make me late while I leave with a tear-stained collar and a carry-on full of guilt. But then, I board the flight.
Once I’m in the air, I switch off my phone, pop in my earplugs, and—gasp!—I read a real book. You know, one without vibrant illustrations or parenting tips! After landing, I find myself in a hotel room—any hotel room will do, as long as I’m the only occupant. It doesn’t matter if the sheets are threadbare or if the AC sounds like a rickety old fan; I can sleep through anything that isn’t a tiny human’s whimper. When I wake up after a glorious eight hours in the middle of a king-sized bed—far from a snoring dog or a kid who does karate in his sleep—I stretch and yawn, ignoring the gym clothes I packed and rolling over for a luxurious ninth hour.
Eventually, I rise to find the Today Show on TV. Sure, I briefly ponder what adventures Dora is having, but I quickly switch gears to catch up on real-world events. With this knowledge in hand, I step into my day feeling much more informed than I did before (sorry, Dora—maybe next time).
Of course, I’ll call the kids at bedtime to share the “challenges” of my day (omitting the smooth flight and first-class upgrade, of course) and express how much I miss tucking them in and smelling their sweet hair. But before that, I allow myself a meal at a restaurant—either with other adults or in blissful solitude. No one to spill my drink. No one to coat the table with salt. No one crafting spitballs out of straw wrappers. I enjoy a meal without the need to threaten anyone with the loss of their favorite gadget.
Later, I’ll recline on a bed that isn’t going to be soaked by a midnight visitor with a leaky Pull-Up. I might briefly wish I was home, but then I remember the parade of nighttime requests: someone’s thirst, a phantom boo-boo needing a Band-Aid, and the search for a lost snuggie. Alas, those problems are not mine to solve tonight, so I indulge in a glass of wine and catch up on shows I’ve recorded on my DVR but may never finish once I’m back in the land of bedtime stories.
But after a night or two of this luxurious solitude, the quiet becomes dull, and the room feels too big. I rush home, bearing hugs, kisses, and hastily bought gifts from the airport, eager to dive back into the chaos of family life. And amidst the love and excitement, I am always grateful to return home.
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In summary, being a traveling parent is a delightful mix of bittersweet farewells and luxurious solitude, making the chaos of home all the more cherished.