Embarking on a business trip can evoke mixed emotions for a parent. On one hand, there’s the heaviness of bidding farewell, marked by quivering lips and teary eyes, often timed perfectly to delay my departure, leaving me with a damp collar and a carry-on bag filled with guilt. Yet, once I board the plane, a shift occurs.
Once settled in my seat, I power down my phone, insert my earplugs, and—gasp—I delve into a book! An actual book, devoid of vibrant illustrations or any references to child care. Upon landing, I arrive at a hotel, a delightful sanctuary where I am the sole occupant of my room for an entire night. The hotel doesn’t need to be luxurious; I’m not picky. Comfortable sheets are secondary to the fact that I can enjoy solitude. The noise from the air conditioning or a running toilet doesn’t bother me; I can sleep through any sound that isn’t generated by a small child. After indulging in a full eight hours of sleep, sprawled out in a king-sized bed instead of wedged between a snoring pet and a restless child, I’ll stretch and yawn, disregarding the gym clothes I packed in favor of another hour of blissful sleep.
When I eventually rise, feeling more refreshed than I have in years, I turn on the television to catch the Today Show. While I may momentarily ponder what adventures Dora is having, I instead immerse myself in current world events, gaining more relevant knowledge than the Spanish word for cheetah (which is guepardo, by the way).
Of course, I will call my little ones before bed, sharing tales of my exhausting day of travel—perhaps omitting the parts about the smooth flight and first-class upgrade. I’ll express my eagerness to return home, to tuck them in and breathe in the scent of their sweet heads as I kiss them goodnight. But first, I will dine at a restaurant, either in the company of other adults or in peaceful solitude. There will be no spills, no salt poured all over the table, and no straw wrappers turned into spitballs. I can relish my meal without threatening anyone with the loss of their electronic devices.
Later, I will recline on a bed that won’t be dampened by a midnight visitor with a leaky Pull-Up. I might briefly wish I were at home, but then I remember that home involves someone coming downstairs, parched, and needing a Band-Aid for an imaginary injury, followed by cries over a lost snuggie. Those issues can’t be resolved tonight, so I’ll savor a glass of wine while watching episodes of shows I’ve recorded on my DVR, knowing that I may never find the time to finish them once I return to my duties.
However, after a night or two of indulgent tranquility, the silence becomes monotonous and the bed too spacious. I soon find myself rushing back home, armed with hugs, kisses, and hastily purchased gifts to alleviate my guilt. Once back in the familiar chaos, I’m overwhelmed by love and excitement, always grateful to be home.
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In summary, the experience of being a traveling parent is a dance between longing for family and savoring moments of solitude. The joy of returning home, however, always outweighs the temporary respite from parenting duties.
Keyphrase: Traveling Parent Experiences
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