Travel

Family vacation. Family vacation. An oxymoron as familiar as “military intelligence” – and just as accurate in describing the impossible.

Ask any mother about the visions the word “vacation” conjures up. You’re likely to hear about poolside lounge chairs, tall glasses with umbrellas and a bronzed massage therapist named Joaquin.

What you won’t hear about is one-bedroom condos and piles of shrimp to clean for dinner or instant oatmeal and beef jerky hauled up the side of a mountain in a knapsack.

Let’s face it, while taking the kids on a trip can provide lifelong memories, it’s no vacation – it’s an exercise in courage and endurance, like the Omaha Beach landing or Lonesome Dove’s cattle drive.

Our family vacations, through no deliberate decision, have always been about the beach, an eight-hour drive, not counting convenience-store browsing, potty breaks, missed exits and roadside stops for stern admonitions about shoddy backseat behavior.

Looking back, I’m amazed that we were brave enough to continue these beach trips after the first two or three, given the general level of mayhem and relationship-threatening, uh, discussions over who had invaded whose space in the way-back of our van. But we did, annually, a tradition that carries over in one permutation or another today, even though the siblings who once leveled lethal glances and hidden elbow jabs at one another are now wage-earners and close friends.

The road trip itself – “Don’t make me stop this car” – was a great adventure. Who could resist the sight of the giant peach water tower in Alabama, the lure of roadside outlet malls – “no WAY we’re stopping at the Nike store” – or three straight hours of AM-radio stations.

After miles and miles of lonesome pine highway – “Look, Dad, I think I saw a person!” – finally, blessedly, the landscape began to hint of sandy soil and scrubby vegetation, cheers went up and the Beach Boys tape signaled the real start of the vacation.

For some of us.

Those of us who had driven all day knew better. Forget the sandy shore and the sunset. There were desk clerks to placate – “No, really, the reservation was for a TWO-bedroom condo, not the penthouse” – groceries to buy, suitcases to unpack, dinner to cook and a cranky TV that received one station.

No matter. Who goes to the beach to watch TV anyway? After all, there are so many fun things to do on a seaside vacation – like go to the beach itself!
First, we’d pack up what we’ll need: sunscreen, floaties, swim diapers, juice boxes, snacks, hats, blankets, folding chairs, cooler, sandwiches, sand toys, inflatable raft and radio. Now load up the adults like pack mules and haul all the above down to the shore.

On the beach, I’d arrange the items and apply sunscreen and hats, then sit back and savor a relaxing few minutes catching up on my reading until – “Mommee! I got sand in my swimsuit! I wanna go home!” While comforting sobbing child, reverse pack-and-move process and head back to the condo.

Oddly enough, years later it’s not the hassles of those family vacations that stick with me the most. It’s all those wonderful, un-distracted moments in which I could deeply savor the sweetness of life with my kids. The tender, moist softness of a sleeping 2-year-old’s sandy cheek resting on my shoulder. Curly heads bobbing in the surf for hours. Endless games of miniature golf. Even those demented road trips.

Okay, maybe not the road trips so much. I’ll take Joaquin over those any day.

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Magazine:
Tennessee Home & Farm, Fall 2010 Edition Edition

Headline:
Are We There Yet?

Summary:
Family vacations are often an endurance test.

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