We arrived at our vacation rental in the evening, and we were finally ready for bed around midnight. We had spent some time getting familiar with our new surroundings, but I still wasn’t sure what supplies were provided and where they were stored. I noticed that the toilet paper roll was almost empty. But there was no replacement roll in the bathroom. Maybe I could find one in the basement. Or the pantry. But I was too tired to look. I noticed the box of tissues that would be my backup plan, mentally put ‘toilet paper’ on my shopping list, and climbed into bed.
In the morning, I stumbled into the bathroom, bleary-eyed, remembering a little too late that I needed to look for another roll. I looked to the left, expecting an empty cardboard tube… or maybe a single square. And there, mounted on the wall, was a brand new roll of toilet paper. The old one was in the trash can, a few feet away. I walked into the kitchen and thanked Jack for replacing it. “Where did you find the extra toilet paper?” He looked at me blankly.
It dawned on me slowly. It wasn’t him. It had to have been… a TEENAGE BOY? One of my offspring took that initiative? Looked in ANOTHER ROOM for a replacement? When there was a box of tissues right there in the bathroom? PRAISE JESUS.
*****
In the morning, we grabbed a few bottles of water and slipped into our bathing suits. We were on the boat by 9am. Nobody complained about the early wake-up as we pulled away from the dock. I sat in my favorite seat in the bow of the boat. Lee took the coveted spot next to me. As we skimmed over the water, I glanced to my left. His eyes were closed. His hair was blowing in the wind. The smile plastered on his face reminded me of afternoons at the playground; him pumping harder on the swings to see if he could get his toes to touch the trees. God, I love that smile.
This kid has been practicing the art of surliness for over a year. He’s a master. But every once in a while, he forgets that he’s trying to project coolness and misery. I was busy cherishing that moment, when Jack decided he wanted to play. He increased the speed and took a hard left. This boat can practically do donuts in the water, and he was testing its limits. Lee’s eyes popped wide open. He glanced at me, wide-eyed. But that look wasn’t fear. It was pure joy. He held on to the nearest handle, and his smile was replaced by the biggest grin I had ever seen. He laughed out loud, and when the boat straightened out again, I could hear him singing along to the radio. Bliss.
*****
Jack and I wanted to do another cruise after lunch. The kids wanted to hang back and watch a movie and make root beer floats. So they stayed behind. The adults threw a few drinks in the cooler and pushed away from the dock. We putted around and admired the houses on the shoreline. We found the party cove and did some people watching. The dark clouds started rolling in, and Jack opened up the throttle. When we hit a wave and went airborne for a moment, I squealed with delight, like a little kid on an amusement park ride. We docked the boat as the first raindrops started to fall.
When we got back to the cabin, I hung my towel in the bathroom. Right next to… wait. What was that? On the towel rod? Lee’s bathing suit? He remembered to hang it up? Oh, my goodness. After all these years. It’s finally sunk in! I smiled, congratulating myself that this kid might someday be a functioning adult.
I checked in with Cal. “Where’s your bathing suit?” I fully expected to find it on the floor. He looked up from his iPad, quizzically. “Ummm… it’s in the laundry. I did a load while you were gone.” WHO ARE THESE CHILDREN?
*****
But really, who are they? It’s not a ridiculous question. They’re growing and changing so fast. Sometimes I notice Lee’s dry humor and perfect comedic timing and I think back to bungled punch lines and bad knock-knock jokes. Or Cam offers to carry the groceries and I remember carrying all the bags AND him on my hip as I climbed the stairs to our old apartment.
But the daily grind is a constant distraction. At home, I remind them to do their laundry and walk the dogs and take their medicine. I drive them to the mall and to football practice and to their friends’ houses. I serve them dinner at the dining room table and they groan because I won’t just let them eat in their bedrooms. They ask me for money and I dole out chores and more often than not, I forget to notice who they’re becoming.
*****
So far, this vacation has been exactly what we all need. With only one screen to look at, we all crowd together in the small living room. The kids want to watch a horror movie. I hate scary movies. We tease each other back and forth for a bit, but they actually ask good questions. They want to know what scares me. Psychological thriller type stuff freaks me out. I can’t handle zombies or humanoid alien creatures. I hate creepy-ness. Dolls that come to life. Child murderers. You get the picture. But I can handle suspense. I can close my eyes for the gore. So they choose something gory and suspenseful, and I agree to give it a try. They agree to turn it off if I hate it.
As it turns out, I didn’t hate it. And I learned a few things I might not have otherwise noticed. Lee gives a great teaser without sharing spoilers. He is stoic and observant and also incredibly funny. He doesn’t mind the scary parts, but he warns me to close my eyes during the sex scenes. Cal notices everything and asks really good questions. He closes his eyes for the gory parts. He wants to be fearless, but after the movie, he asks me to watch a little bit of a Disney cartoon “to get those images out of my head” and then he sleeps with the light on.
*****
Our summertime vacations usually consist of camping trips with a group of friends. Or a borrowed lake house with a few other families. Or trips to visit family out of state. Renting a place for just us is a new luxury. Prompted by Covid and financed by newly terminated child support payments, it feels like a hard-earned reward. I’m realizing that a vacation feels different when it’s just our little family.
Don’t get me wrong. I love those crazy, huge get-togethers with family and friends. I love the loud, raucous camping trips and cramming too many people on a pontoon boat. I love the late night laughter and guitars around a fire pit.
But this year, the pace of this small family vacation feels just right. Three of our five kids are technically adults, and I’m realizing that the clock is ticking on the time that I have with these last two. I’m grateful for the chance to peek in on them as they sleep in. To hear their laughter on the water. To sit quietly by the dock or roast marshmallows in the fire pit. To watch stupid slasher movies and play cards and notice who they’re becoming.
Because I won’t have unlimited chances, and I won’t get this time back. Someday, they’ll be ignoring my texts from their own apartments. They’ll be paying their own bills and managing their own schedules and securing their own transportation. They’ll be hanging up their wet clothes and replacing the toilet paper roll and doing their laundry, and I won’t even be there to notice.
And I want that for them. OF COURSE I do. After all, isn’t that the point? And I can just pray that I am able to keep knowing them… to keep learning about who they will become.
Starting today.