Vacation with (Very Young) Children
We are ready for vacation, but is vacation ready for us?
A couple of months ago, I had one strong cocktail and booked a vacation to Florida for our family for the beginning of April. Winter in the northeast is long and I’d been craving the beach, but also, this particular trip was something different. It would be our first time going away as just the four of us, without extended family. It felt very “adult” to be doing our own thing, like an important milestone that solidified our status as real, grown-up parents. Some of my favorite childhood memories are spring break trips with my own parents and siblings—and while I knew my kids were probably too young to really remember a vacation, I was still drawn to the idea.
A vacation also felt like a test, an experiment that would answer the following questions: what was our family, in its current status, capable of? How would we fare within our own limits, without school or grandparents or playdates or childcare for almost a week? My son and daughter will be five and three this summer, respectively; would embarking on a trip with children this young be vacationy in the slightest?
I am ready to travel with my kids. I am ready to drink a piña colada and read by the pool while my children entertain themselves in the water. But is this delusional? Am I getting five years ahead of myself? Ten? Parenthood is like this—a lot of feeling your way in the dark. Perspective that is only possible with hindsight. But I suspected a family vacation would be a way to gauge exactly where we stood, in real time.
We opted for a resort on the Gulf Coast of Florida, a kid-friendly spot on St. Pete Beach with a bajillion shallow pools and activities for little ones. In advance of the trip, we enrolled our 4.5-year-old in bi-weekly lessons with a swim instructor I’d been told could teach a rock to float, and potty trained our 2.5-year-old in an effort to free ourselves from the chains of round-the-clock, waterlogged diapers. On both fronts, enormous progress was made. We were ready. But were we?
The trip was last week, and now that we’re home, I do have a better sense of where we stand, of what level of travel our family can tackle. In an effort to be more casual with this Substack, I’ve opted for pros and cons, two each. Let’s start with the cons:
2.5 might be both the cutest and the hardest age. My daughter was probably easier on the trip than she would’ve been a year ago, but while she’s no longer a bull in a china shop, she’s now entered drunk escaped prisoner territory. She kept running away—from the pool, from the hotel room, towards the beach, away from the beach. She removed her bathing suit to pee on the sand in front of strangers, spilled entire strawberry daiquiris the minute they were handed to her. Smashed her brother’s sand castles. Screamed bloody murder when we intercepted her escape attempts. My back hurts from wrangling her.
Evenings were not…ideal. Perhaps I’d been naive to envision the four of us blithely listening to reggae music on the beach at sunset, the sound of steel drums coaxing the children towards bedtime. In reality, both kids were wrecked by five o’clock, ready for a quick meal and pajamas after an active day in the sun. We’d planned to go out to dinner every evening of the trip, but only made it out twice. The first time, my daughter repeatedly slid underneath our table and tried to escape the restaurant; the second, she kept requesting one of us take her to the bathroom, only to have several false alarms. Eventually, she peed in her clothes right at the table. Needless to say, these dinners out were speedy. The resort didn’t offer any kind of babysitting service (which I should’ve looked into beforehand) and we forgot to bring a baby monitor. So when the kids went to sleep, my husband and I were in for the night, too.
Next, pros:
Swim lessons for my son paid off. He’s always been a tentative kid when it comes to pursuing new activities, and it was incredible to see his comfort and confidence in the water. He had a blast. By and large, as a four-going-on-five-year-old he was pretty easy to travel with—he entertained himself on the plane (thank you, iPad), and was just generally more self-sufficient that he’s been on previous trips. I think I’m one step closer to drinking that piña colada with my book while the kids play in the pool.
Maybe it sounds cheesy, but I keep thinking about what Carrie Coon’s character Laurie said in The White Lotus finale (which I think is safe to say we’ve all watched?). She said time gives her life meaning. It’s simple but it’s so profound, and I felt this often on vacation with my kids. To spend time with them—to be fully present with them for an uninterrupted chunk of days—was so meaningful. We don’t get this at home, when everyone’s schedules are packed and my husband and I are both working. I could tell that having our undivided attention made my children so happy, and it makes me feel a little guilty—and definitely sad—that it can’t be this way all the time. Our five days together were a gift, and I can’t wait to do it again.
Bonus pro: I read two incredible books that I must recommend—
Just Want You Here by Meredith Turits. I didn’t expect to finish a book on vacation with kids, but I simply could not put this novel down. I went to Meredith’s launch event in Brooklyn last month, where she was in conversation with my friend Colleen, so I thought I had a sense of the novel’s vibe. But for some reason, the book was not what I expected (in an exciting way). Just Want You Here follows Ari, a woman in her late twenties who has just broken up with her fiancé after a decade together. In need of a fresh start, she takes a job in Boston, where she ends up having an affair with her married boss (no spoilers, it’s in the jacket copy), while also becoming entangled with his wife. The writing was great and the plot was super unique—something about the reading experience reminded me of Emma Cline’s The Guest; I had no idea where the story was going but was thrilled to be along for the wild ride.
Long Bright River by Liz Moore. Technically I finished this one before vacation, but I have to shout my passion for it from the rooftops. This novel had been sitting on my nightstand for several years; I kept meaning to get to it, and when I heard the show was out on Peacock I finally cracked it open (I like to read the book before watching an adaptation, when I can). Long Bright River follows two sisters who are rocked by the opioid crisis in the same Philly neighborhood in very different ways—one’s a cop, one’s an addict—and the plot kicks off when the addict sister goes missing. The story is emotional and beautiful within the dark, devastating confines of its heavy subject; ultimately, it’s a literary thriller that had me fully gripped. I liked it even better than Liz Moore’s more recent bestseller, The God of the Woods. The novel’s final lines are chilling and resonant; I don’t think I’ll ever forget them.
