A Feat (and Feet) for the Aged

I had a big birthday coming up and was asked what I wanted to do. Party On! Pizza, a Chuck-E-Cheese-like arcade near my childhood home complete with animatronics, greasy food and cheap prizes that "cost" thousands of tickets, closed in approximately 1997. So, I was out of ideas.

Then my parents suggested they could fly in from their home in Naples, Florida to watch the kids while Belle and I stayed at their house for a long weekend. Some warm weather in January sounded great, plus the trip would be a milestone for us: Our first vacation without kids since the middle of the Obama administration. (You had to think for a second how long ago that was, right?)

We have sent the older kids for a sleepover at my in-laws but, since our youngest was born, leaving all three behind seemed unfair to our parents. Also, Covid. These days, however, the kids are self-sufficient in their own ways and knew, if grandma and grandpa were coming to town, they would be getting some new toys and ice cream at some point during the visit. Everyone would win, so I booked our plane tickets.

Every weekend is a busy weekend with kids, which is why we left behind three pages of instructions for my parents (in large font, natch) that included times and addresses for after-school art programs, basketball, swimming and Hebrew school pickup and drop-off. Belle and I went to bed late Thursday night after making sure everything was in order and kids' lunches were packed.

We were getting picked up at 4:45 a.m. Friday morning to get to the airport and, looking back, that's when I realized this was going to be a different kind of trip. Had kids been coming on the trip, we would probably have gotten up at 3 a.m. - at the latest - to get ourselves together, make sure we had everything they needed and wake them up as close to 4:45 as possible so all we had to do was put them in the car. Instead, without kids, we rolled out of bed at 4, put on running clothes for later in the morning and brought our suitcase downstairs.

At the airport, we checked our one bag, watching sleep-deprived parents pushing strollers or carrying small children also in a daze. We took a leisurely walk to the gate and then, with time to spare, took a leisurely walk to find the nearest Starbucks. We spent the flight reading or sleeping, not entertaining a child. 

So far, so wonderful. We landed in warm weather and our long weekend away was underway. 

This is a family-friendly space, but I wanted to share some of the adult things we were able to do:

- Go out to eat after 6:30 p.m.

- Visit the pool without first spending 50 minutes applying sunscreen on everyone and packing roughly 3,529 snacks

- Not set a morning alarm

Thus relaxed, things got a little crazy. Belle wanted to get a pedicure and, capturing the you-only-live-once ethos of this trip, I decided to join her for my first one ever. We both got the basic treatment and I was trying my best not to laugh as the pedicurist manipulated my toes. Then she looked at my heels, which, admittedly, are pockmarked with dry skin despite my recent best efforts to moisturize.

"Do you want to upgrade?" she asked, pointing to the next level on the pricing sheet that included dry-skin removal and massage.

(Artist rendering of my pedicure)

I agreed, figuring there was a reason for her look of concern. That look of concern transferred to my face as she pulled out what looked like a small, handheld grater. She started to, well, grate my heels and I bounced between feeling pain, ticklish and nauseous as the shavings piled up in front of her like she was putting Parmesan on my pasta and I refused to say "when." I now know exactly what Lloyd Christmas was experiencing when he was getting his makeover. 

After what seemed like forever, I hopped out of the chair with incredibly smooth feet and felt like I was walking on clouds. I celebrated my newfound sense of adventure later that afternoon by falling asleep sitting by the pool.

Did we miss our kids? It was hard not to think about them at my parents' house because their photos (along with photos of their cousins) are plastered on almost every inch of available wall and shelf space. And we did FaceTime a few times a day to say hi. Belle wanted to make sure everything was OK at our house and pumped everyone on the other end for information. I looked to make sure no child had any sort of head wound and then went back to admiring my feet.

The kids came up during our conversations but it was nice to have a conversation without kids interrupting. We enjoyed seeing other people with their babies but were glad to be past that stage of parenting and that said babies were someone else's. In other words, we fit right in with all of the grandparents around us even as we brought down the average age of wherever we were by about 25 years.

By Sunday morning, we could have stayed another week in the warm weather but also were ready to get home and see the kids. The look of excitement on their faces when we walked through the front door, those first hugs and kisses - that was the best birthday present I could ask for. 

The ice cream cake they bought me was pretty good, too. 

If this van's a-rockin'...

Belle and I have been a little wistful lately as we watch our kids grow. Our 4-and-a-half-year-old daughter can already apply her own lipstick. Our 19-month-old son, after figuring out he can stand up during bathtime, has discovered the joy of peeing in the tub.

So, after much deliberation, we decided it was time to have a third... row of seating in one of our cars.

Not our van.

That we became Van People was a bit of surprise. But I should have seen this automotive evolution coming. I might have even predicted it five years ago:

Memories might be priceless, but if I can get a couple thousand dollars for my car when I turn it in, I'll take it. That money will not go toward purchasing my new car, though, because that is already in our garage. I'll soon be driving Belle's Corolla, a silver four-door with some pep and a small spoiler so named because it spoils the view out of your rearview mirror.

Belle, in turn, will get a new car. Something a little bigger, something with a bit more room, something that can fit -- gulp -- car seats.

Since then, the Corolla and I got along fine. But then the radio display stopped working. And then the automatic locks stopped automatically locking. And then our kids and our car seats got bigger and the car started feeling small when we all piled in. We could only take the car on short trips that did not require us bringing much more than ourselves.

Poor Belle was packed so tight in the passenger seat of the Corolla with her backpack, cooler of snacks and knitting bag that she could barely buckle her seatbelt. When the kids needed something while we were driving (it's never "if" when you have kids under 5), she would have to contort herself over the center console and effectively moon the driver in front of us.

(If you were expecting a butt joke there, I'd like to sleep in my bed tonight, thank you very much.)

For as long as I've known Belle, she swore she would never get a van. But the door opened for one in part because of the doors on her SUV. Contorting your kids through a car-door opening and into their car seats without any complaining is the toughest game of "Operation" imaginable. The appeal of sliding doors and the ability for our kids to climb into the van on their own, not to mention space for them to spread out, was a huge selling point.

Some couples go out for dinner on their wedding anniversary. Belle and I, in perhaps the most appropriate sign of how far we've come since we said "I do," spent our wedding anniversary at a car dealership saying "I don't" to financing plans and various add-ons to our new van. One month later, everyone is happy and comfortable in our new ride. Belle even lets me drive it sometime.

That third row, incidentally, is empty right now but we've been batting around a plan for it. It could involve -- gulp -- another car seat.

As I was writing this, at 6:30 one morning, I saw my son stirring in his crib on the baby monitor. He was calm, so I went back to writing. A minute later, I heard my daughter's voice over the monitor, and then saw her hand give him a book through the crib rails.

I ran upstairs and found my daughter sitting on the potty.

"Why did you go into his room?" I asked.

"He was trying to reach 'Pete the Cat,'" she replied as my son wailed in his crib.

People always joke about going from one kid to two is like going from a zone defense to man-to-man. But what you don't realize until you have a kid is that, in both scenarios, you're playing against LeBron James. All you can do is try to keep the score respectable.

So whether we have a third child or continue to marvel at how our two kids are growing, I was prescient five years ago about my future:

This is going to cost me a lot of money.