Vacation, all I ever wanted?

For many mothers, summer “vacation” is no holiday. Never is this more true than when she decides to take a trip (yes, a “vacation”), say, for example, to a beach house filled with her own extended family. She is lucky to be there, lucky to have access, lucky to spend time at a scenic waterfront spot. Lucky indeed. So, how can it feel like such drudgery? Is it the endless cycle of changing into swimsuits, applying sunscreen, preparing snacks, dragging chairs, buckets, bags across the sand, supplying drinks of water, supplying clean towels, wiping sand out of eyes, and then cleaning everyone and everything up only to do it all again the next day? Is it the difficulty (exacerbated by the new setting) of keeping track of all the swimsuits, coloring books, hats, sunglasses, and favorite stuffed animals? Is it the exhaustion of letting the kids stay up later than normal, only to have them wake with the sun, ready for another busy day of vacation? Whatever it is, it can leave a modern mother feeling fatigued and, well, in need of a vacation from her vacation. But of course there is no time off from motherhood. Perhaps the modern mother can take solace in the fact that she is not alone, and the U.S. has recently been called “No Vacation Nation” for the paltry vacation time Americans typically receive and take from their paid jobs. Better consolation might be found by curling up with her digital camera after everyone is in bed, and flipping through the photos of the day: frolicking in the surf, sandcastles, learning to body surf. Her children’s happiness in the photos should help put the schlepping in perspective. These luminous and gritty days at the beach are quintessential childhood summer memories.  The modern mother can cling to their brightness and shake off the fatigue as she shakes the sand out of her beach bag.

The International Order of Sympathetic Parents

A modern mother may one day find herself in need of a few PVC fitting to make a small household repair. Though she considers herself competent in many areas, this particular task, involving plumbing fixtures and possibly some special glue, falls decidedly outside her core competencies. After striking out at the local hardware store, she sighs and resigns herself to the no man's land of a cavernous big-box retailer. She'll have to figure it out for herself, and with a toddler in tow.

And so, she finds herself, standing in front of a seemingly endless wall of elbow joints and minimizers in every possible size, with her toddler screaming and kicking in frustration that she won’t let him scale the wall of pipes nearby. She shuts out the wailing and hurriedly picks PVC pieces, trying to fit them together and make a match to the broken fixture. Nothing fits; nothing matches; child continues screaming. Like a mirage, a salesperson materializes, “What are you looking for? I heard the crying baby and figured you must need help.” She extends her arm, her hand cradling fragments of a fixture. He takes a look, plucks a fitting from the many, many bins, says “be back in a sec," returns with another piece, puts the two together and voila, a match. “I’ve got three of those screamers at home myself. I know how it is,” he says. And there it is – an invocation of the international order of sympathetic parents.

For all the times a crying child in a public place garners withering looks of annoyance and disgust, we hope our well-mannered readers encounter a kind and understanding fellow parent, grandparent, or other adult. When a parent recognizes, remembers and comes to the aid of another, temporarily struggling, parent, he joins the order of sympathetic parents, a lifetime membership. So, thank you to Jay at the Home Depot. And, thank you to the many mothers and fathers (and others) who hold the door for mothers carrying small children, help carry strollers up and down stairs, and stop parents on airplanes and in restaurants to compliment them on the behavior of their (mostly) well mannered children. Thank you all for your magnanimous civility.

Diaper Danger (part 2)

The mother of very young children may sometimes find herself in a busy restaurant or on an airplane, with a baby or toddler in urgent need of a diaper change. She may feel a moment of panic when she sees the limited and paltry options for changing: (1) a closet-like bathroom of dubious hygiene with no counter or other horizontal surface, or (2) right there, at the table or airplane seat. That’s it. Even the best-equipped diaper bags can’t rectify this situation.

As she considers the crowded scene before her, a mother can be forgiven for thinking no one will notice if she sneaks in a quick diaper change, right there, at her seat. But they will. There are always people grumpy to see babies and small children in restaurants and on airplanes, no matter how quiet and angelic. A visible public diaper change just might send one of these people over the edge, turn the stomach of an otherwise child-loving observer, or even violate health codes.

And, so, despite the indignity and frustration, the well-mannered mother must swallow hard, grab her diaper bag and make it work. In a restaurant, she could consider escaping to her car, if she drove. Or try using a reclined stroller as a “changing table” if she can find a discreet place for it. However she manages, she keeps the diaper change private. She may be thinking, “this is not what I signed up for!” as she cradles her baby’s head and shoulders with one arm, grabs the wipes and changes the diaper with the other arm, all while limiting contact with the paper towels and changing pad on the bathroom floor. She may even break into a sweat. But she will know that she has made her own heroic contribution towards keeping the world civilized, even if the perpetually grumpy people sitting next to her don’t have the slightest clue what she has spared them.