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Confessions of a Traveling Parent
Leaving my family behind for a work trip is a mix of anxiety and thrill. I dread the goodbyes, watching the kids’ lips quiver and their eyes well up, perfectly timed to make me late as I walk out with a tear-soaked collar and a suitcase full of guilt. But then comes the moment I step onto that plane.
Once I’m airborne, I switch off my phone, pop in my earplugs, and—gasp—crack open a real book! You know, one without colorful illustrations or tips on parenting. Upon landing, I find myself in a hotel room, a glorious sanctuary where I’m completely alone for a whole night. It doesn’t have to be luxurious; honestly, I’m not picky. I don’t care if the sheets are the softest or if the AC rattles. As long as I’m the only one occupying that bed, I can sleep through any noise that doesn’t belong to a tiny human.
When I wake up after a full eight hours in a king-sized bed, not wedged between a snoring dog and a kid who kicks like a martial arts master, I stretch and yawn, conveniently ignoring the gym clothes I packed. I’ll roll over and indulge in a delicious extra hour of sleep.
Eventually, I rise and turn on the TV to catch the news. While I might briefly miss hearing about Dora’s adventures with her bilingual friends, I appreciate the chance to catch up on real world events, arming myself with more relevant knowledge than the Spanish word for cheetah (which is “guepardo,” by the way).
Of course, I’ll call my little munchkins before bed and complain about my grueling day of travel (leaving out the part about the smooth flight and first-class upgrade). I’ll express how much I miss them and can’t wait to tuck them in and smell their sweet heads before saying goodnight. But first, I’ll treat myself to a meal at a restaurant, where I can either savor the company of other adults or enjoy some peaceful solitude. No one will spill my drink, cover the table with salt, or turn straw wrappers into spitballs. I can actually finish an entire meal without having to threaten anyone with the loss of their device!
Later, I’ll recline on a bed that won’t be soaked by a midnight visitor clutching a leaky Pull-Up. I might momentarily wish to be home, but then I remember that would mean someone coming downstairs dying of thirst, followed by a request for a Band-Aid for a nonexistent injury, and then tears over a misplaced snuggie. Alas, I can’t solve those problems tonight, so I’ll sip a glass of wine and binge-watch episodes of shows I’ve recorded but may never finish once I’m back on Snuggie Patrol.
But after a night or two of blissful solitude, the silence becomes dull, and the spacious bed feels too large. I rush back home, showering my kids with hugs, kisses, and little gifts hastily bought out of guilt at the airport. When I’m back in the delightful chaos of family life, I’m always filled with love and excitement to be home again.
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Summary
Traveling for work as a parent is a bittersweet experience filled with moments of guilt and joy. While the excitement of solitude and the freedom to indulge in personal time is appealing, the love and chaos of family life always pull you back home.