Once, when the kids were little, my husband and I escaped to Las Vegas for a few days. By Wendi Rank
We landed, checked into our hotel, and napped, hoping to shake off the fatigue of our early morning flight. And, you know, parenting.
Rested, we showered and made dinner plans, calling home as we did so. Our daughter, we discovered, had developed a fever – nearly from the moment we left her with my husband’s parents.
“Do not come home,” my goddess of a mother-in-law told me. “I’ve raised a kid. He got sick from time to time. Dad and I can handle this.” We didn’t go home early. Not even when that sick kid got on the phone. I could feel her lower lip quivering from 2500 miles away. “Mommy?” she said. “Mommy, I frew up. When are you coming home?” With a few sobs thrown in for good measure.
All we could do was find a bar, settle in for a drink, and pretend home didn’t exist. “Will we ever be able to leave home?” we mused as we drowned our sorrows. Because there we were, trying to eke out time together despite having young kids. Yet we felt trapped by competing desires to stay in Vegas and get home to our suffering little one.
We reckoned someday, the kids would be teens. They’d have driver’s licenses and jobs and college and we would be able to go anywhere, anytime. How charming.
As 2025 drew to a close, my husband and I talked about getting away for a few days. “January is out,” he said. If you’ve been reading this column for a bit, you might recall February is out, too. Our oldest – she of the vomiting and fever when we were in Las Vegas – is now away at college. Far away. Her college has a family weekend over Valentine’s Day each year. You could no more keep me from seeing my kid at family weekend than you could keep me away from breakfast dessert in Vegas.
March is no better. That kid comes home from college for her spring break. “Good news on that front,” I said to my husband. Our son, a high school senior, recently was accepted to a college on the opposite end of the country from our daughter. His spring break in 2027 does not line up with our daughter’s. “So all of spring is out next year,” I said.
Which brings us to April. April will find me and my son visiting his college for Accepted Students’ Day on what I hope will be a warm Saturday. Fine. So, May.
Except come May, our son anticipates driving three hours daily for a three week internship. “You’ll never relax if you’re away while he makes that drive,” my husband rightly pointed out.
June is our family vacation. In July, our daughter is participating in a study abroad in Cuba. In August, our kids leave for college. And no. It’s not cool that our daughter is going to Cuba. To scuba dive with sharks. We’re just pretending that is not happening, OK?
Also, I can’t go away while my kid is in Cuba. A three-hour drive wrecks me. Do you seriously think I’m any better with a foreign country? Autumn brings the cool weather, and with it, hunting. My husband disappears from September to December every year.
“I thought,” I said, “once the kids were out of the house, getting away would be easier!” I’m home alone as I write this. That solitude is the reason I picked up my laptop. And yet. I’m fielding calls from my husband and my daughter. I’ve been plugging away at this piece for hours longer than it should take me, thanks to those calls. Which is not a complaint. But it looks like I’m going nowhere.
Ah, well. Pennsylvania probably has breakfast dessert somewhere. Right?
Contact Wendi Rank on Instagram @wendirank
