the underwear drawer

just like the griswolds




So, one of the many things that has happened since I last updated in May is that we went on our vacation the week of Memorial Day. We went to this place. And it was fun, but I realized something about myself, which is that when it comes to my kids, I am both filled with guilt and deeply neurotic. (Hey, I didn't say it was a new insight, guys.) While I think this tendency is likely multifactorial, I think in large part it is probably related to the fact that I started having kids early in my medical training, and am therefore accustomed to feeling like I am wronging everyone equally no matter what I do.




(Mack in particular feels wronged. He also feels like John Belushi.)

So, Tyler Place. We (that is to say, I) first heard about Tyler Place when I was looking for a fun place to go on our annual family vacation, with the stipulation in place that this place could not under any circumstances be in Florida. (This was way, way before the oil spill, I started making arrangements last fall, so that's not the reason. It's just that every other family vacation we've ever taken has been in Florida because it's cheap and close by and Mickey Mouse lives there. So, NO FLORIDA.)

I also was looking for a place where Joe and I would get a chance to spend some time together. One unfortunate effect of having two parents who work long hours is that while we can for the most part swap who's working late which nights (we schedule and trade and do what it takes so that one of us will always be home to at least bathe the kids and put them to bed), what ends up happening is that when one of us is home, usually the other is not. So there are many weeks where outside of nights and weekends (even those are dodgy, depending on whether or not one of us is on call) we really don't see each other very much. Obviously not ideal, but for now, it's how it has to be.




Tyler Place seemed like it would really fit the bill. First of all, it's in Vermont, which, unless my American public school education has totally failed me, I'm pretty sure is not in Florida. Secondly, it was billed as some sort of family mecca, a place where overstressed parents and kids of all ages could come for a week to unwind, relax, and be entertained both together and apart. See, a big selling point of Tyler Place is that it's like some kind of mega-camp for kids and for adults. Kids have activities all day long. Even baby kids (like Mack) are assigned personal sitters that take them on outings and engage them in activities in the mornings and the evenings, feeding them all meals and taking care of their every whim from dusk 'til dawn.




Meanwhile, parents are also encouraged to take advantage of the camp-like atmosphere and basically do everything that you would want to do if you didn't have your damn kids hanging off you every second of the day. Other people snoozed in hammocks, took art classes, went on hikes, did yoga, took day trips to Montreal, what have you. (Note I said other people. I'm getting to that part.) Food and drinks are all included in the resort fee, as are all the activity expenses. Normally, I think such a trip would probably fall outside our vacation budget (not only the expense of such all-inclusive chicanery, but also factoring in the cost of flying our carcasses in there, etcetera), but the week I chose, the week of Memorial Day, was something like 50% off the peak-season price range. Which seemed strange to me, because come on, Memorial Day, but then I realized why:




Sweaters in June. Hello Vermont, you are truly the snowy north.

People love this place, did I mention that? They love it. There are people there who have been coming there every year for the past five, six, seven years, people who plan their whole yeararound their annual trip to Tyler Place, people who have made lifelong friendships from these summers in Vermont. And it is very nice. There were some things that we liked a lot. First of all, the food and drink really were superb, and the accomodations were simple but comfortable. The childcare staff was excellent--they were so thoughtful, you could tell they really liked the kids, and scads of them had these charming British and Australian accents. The waterfront was gorgeous, with plenty of activities for the enthusiast. And of course there was Cal's favorite part, which is that you get your own bike the day you check in, that you're encouraged to ride everywhere on the grounds. He was one of the youngest kids there who was riding a two-wheeler, a realization that was, for him, one of the highlights of the entire trip.




The problem? The problem was that every time I would drop Cal and Mack off at their respective clubhouses for a day filled with organic local foods and swimming and treasure hunts and poking other babies in the eye, I felt terrible. Terrible. I felt like a terrible parent. Here we were, working such long hours in our regular lives, only to come on vacation--come on a family vacation--only to dump our kids off so that someone else can have fun with them? This felt sad. Every time after we dropped off the kids, Joe and I didn't know what to do. Did we want to go on a hike? No. Did we want to go take an archery lesson? No. Did we want to join in on the watercolor course on the sundeck? I got paints at home, dude. Did we want to take a Zumba class? OK, now you're not even speaking English anymore.

However, did we want to tiptoe up to the kid's clubhouse and peek in through the window like creeps, making sure that Cal was having fun in his group? Yes indeedy do!




The fact of it is that it might not have been quite the right kind of structure for our kind of family vacation. We probably could have used something a little more free-form, and that's my fault for not realizing that. But I kind of started to feel like there was something wrong with me. Because the other parents were enjoying themselves so much. They loved having all those child-free hours, taking advantage of all the adult-only activities. (It kind of sounds like I'm talking about secret sex parties when I say "adult-only activities," but I'm more referring to doubles tennis and karaoke night.) They were participating in everything. Joe and I were just worriedly wringing our hands, pretending to play Scrabble at the inn while checking our watches obsessively until it was time to collect our offspring. We felt like we were wasting our vacation time without them.




The thing is when you work long hours, and have been working long hours since your children have been born, when your kids say "I want to spend time with you" it is very, very difficult not to feel terrible about pushing them away. Of course they want to do stuff with us. They're our kids. We're their parents. The last thing we want to do is come on a family trip and feel like we're pawning them off on other people to take care of.

Cal did do some of the activities with his group, but we pulled him out of "camp" for as many days as he was in it, using the time that Mack was in his group to do some special activities with Cal that we wouldn't be able to do with the baby in tow. (Which is basically everything.) And that's not to say that Cal didn't enjoy the activities with his group either. In particular, he loved "Pirate Night," a evening where they took all the four and five-year olds on a pontoon boat out to this little island and staged a pirate battle after which booty was reclaimed and distributed amongst the slack-jawed children. (The booty was candy and plastic bedazzled trinkets. Cal got a ridiculous green jeweled ring, which he very earnestly showed us, told us he intended to use as his ring "when he got married," and proceeded to wear to bed.)

I don't mean it to sound like we didn't have fun at Tyler Place, because really, we did, and the people there were so gracious and lovely that I feel like a shitheel for even sounding like I'm complaining when really, it was a wonderful family trip. But I work a lot of hours in my non-vacation life, and I miss my kids when I'm not with them. And though one of the highlights of the week for me was the opportunity to have dinner every night in a dining room with other adults, putting food into my own mouth with a fork as opposed to fielding projectile food particles while getting up from the table thirty thousand times to fetch another glass of milk/napkin/clean spoon/change of pants--there were points that week where I missed that too. So clearly, I am insane.

In sum: Vermont was pretty. We had fun. I felt guilty for every moment that I was not with my children. I will grow up to be a creepy and socially inappropriate mom who tags alongside her full-grown sons, insisting shrilly that they give their mother a kiss, what was that look for, DON'T YOU LOVE ME?




The end.

(Full photo set here.)