Right now, my two teenage sons are off with my husband on their fifth annual boys’ lake trip — a tradition that started a few years ago when I casually suggested they take a getaway without me. It was right after the height of the pandemic, and we were all in need of some breathing room after a year of virtual school and working from home.
At first, my staying behind was a practical choice: our pet sitter was unavailable and boarding wasn’t an option with two dogs, a cat, and a parrot.
That first year, I felt a mix of guilt and anxiety as they drove away. I’d pitched the idea as a chance for them to bond — father and sons, no “default parent” hovering — and I meant it. But once they actually left, I had a pit in my stomach. Had I made a terrible mistake?
It was my idea, but I wasn’t ready
I was a little panicked that first year and didn’t know how to fill my alone time. I started a to-do list that morphed into a massive, over-ambitious three-page document. I can’t help but laugh at myself now — I’m a former Navy spouse who used to spend months alone at a time. But after a decade of parenting, I had forgotten what it was like to truly be alone in my own house.
When my family was getting ready for their first trip without me, I double-checked their packing lists, tucked snacks and notes into backpacks, and offered advice on what to bring. My husband — the Navy guy I trust completely and who’s more than capable of organizing a weeklong trip — definitely didn’t need my help. He still patiently indulged my anxiety attack as I tucked children’s Motrin, Band-Aids, and antibiotic cream into his toiletries bag.
It’s gotten better every year
After that first year, I gradually stopped feeling the need to double-check their packing or toss out last-minute reminders about sunscreen and underwear. My kids are teenagers now, and with the help of their father (not me!), they have the planning and packing down.
This year, I was content to watch from the sidelines as they loaded the car with all of the gear they’d need for a week away. The morning they left, I waved from the porch and headed back inside to a quiet house. I’ve learned to let go.
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For them, this week is about swimming, fishing, eating junk food, and staying up late watching movies. It’s exactly the kind of memory-making experience that doesn’t require my involvement — and honestly, they probably benefit from my absence. They come home sunburned and tired, full of stories that don’t include me. They’ve found a place that belongs to the three of them, and rather than being jealous, I love the memories — and confidence — they’re building.
I’ve learned to take the time for myself
Meanwhile, I get a stretch of time that’s entirely my own. In previous years, I’ve hosted girls’ night on my deck or invited a long-distance friend to visit for a few days. This year, I was craving the alone time to focus on some big creative projects. I also binged some shows, read two novels, and reveled in the quiet (and a clean house).
As a night owl, I find it liberating not to have to sync up with anyone else’s schedule. I eat when I’m hungry rather than at designated family meal times, go to bed as late as I want, and start my day whenever I’m ready. I feel like a teenager with the house to myself while my parents are out of town — only better, because I don’t have to sneak anything.
After five years of trips, my to-do lists have gotten a little shorter (and focus more on fun), and I’ve started looking forward to this week almost as much as my family does. I can’t wait to see what next year brings.
