Pretty Lake, August 1980. I am 5, and Bethany is a month shy of turning 4.
Mike and I spent last night talking about whether we think we'll be able to still take a trip for fall break, and if so, what would be the safest way to do it. We agonized over the safety of flying, renting a car, staying at a rental house versus in a hotel. In the end, we still don't think it's safe enough, so while we still have the plane tickets, we haven't made any reservations for lodging or car rental. I went to bed sad, knowing that I will probably spend this entire year without taking any time off. Knowing that once this situation does resolve (one way or the other), our time with the boys at home will be that much closer to an end.
I didn't take many vacations as a kid. Once my parents got married, we took a family trip to Cedar Point, and we went camping once or twice (my mom wasn't a fan, and honestly, neither am I), but that's about it. But summers were magical anyway. My grandparents would sometimes rent a house on Pretty Lake or a couple of cabins at Potato Creek, and whoever could make it would show up. I remember swimming in lakes, taking trips on pontoon boats, riding bikes, eating slushies, and eventually reading scary books to younger cousins. Neither of those places is very far from here (Pretty Lake is maybe 15 minutes, and Potato Creek is about 30 minutes), but it didn't matter. The point was to spend time together, relaxing and exploring and talking and laughing. I know they must have planned ahead to rent the houses, but to me it felt spontaneous, a constant ebb and flow of aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents.
I have that same feeling sometimes when a bunch of us stay at a state park inn, or when we went to Gatlinburg. Everyone is coming and going, and sometimes you're together but other times you're not, and it all just sort of works. The boys always say that the best trips are the trips we take with other people, and they're totally right. Every time they say it, I'm so happy that I've given them at least a little bit of that feeling I had as a kid. But I wonder if all of that is gone now.
Listen, I like holidays well enough. I know they're supposed to be about family and love and tradition. But for me, I'd much rather have a trip to a lake or a woods or a mountain or even to nowhere in particular. A place where for a little while, there aren't any responsibilities or expectations. Where we can all disconnect from the pressures of work and school and everyday life, and explore together—or not—in whatever way strikes our fancy each day.
I keep reading about "self-care during these trying times" (gag me), but what happens when the way you do self-care isn't an option anymore?
I guess we're going to find out.
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