scribblechic

Stranded between loads of unfinished laundry, I have been sifting through images of our family vacation. Snapshots tickling smiles and sentiment for the experience of our time together; my mind drifting to the moments captured outside the lens of our cameras.

My expectations for family vacations are born more of literary experiences than childhood travels. I have traveled more as a mother than I did as a child. I have come to understand that uncomfortable, imperfect moments lend as much insight as humor to our collective memories. Our personalities, larger than our physical presence, crowded into the confined spaces of public transportation or hotel rooms nurture equal parts frustration and appreciation.

Our children have grown, no longer are they tucked passively into strollers or nestled safely in our arms. Too big to tether themselves to our hands at all times their eyes scanned the environment for their own interests while I still marked their presence, reassuring myself of their safety among congested streets and crowded landmarks. Occasionally their stubborn impetuousness contradicted my Rockwellian expectations and I would pause among the sites to marvel at my children with equal parts irritation and amusement.

My temperamental preteen would bemoan the discomfort of unending sightseeing on loud, exaggerated sighs only to welcome each crosswalk with a march as elegant as a great dane puppy tripping over awkward limbs. Watching my son balance his attitude with unguarded enthusiasm he was an enigma of contradictions, trapped between illogical indignation and immature amusement.

My daughter was both fearless and fascinated. She absorbed our new environment in wrinkled stacks of pamphlets and haphazardly scribbled notes. She surfed the subway, determined to overpower the force of the train’s momentum with outstretched arms and a broad smile. The youngest and often our son’s model for social norms, she was fiercely independent in a new setting unthreatened by the scale of the unknown.

None of this is a revelation. My children unfold into new stages daily, but outside the framework of our routines I paused to acknowledge the passage of time. As we settle back into the comforts of home, I am unpacking expectations and realizations alongside laundry and souvenirs. Emotions and sentiment cluttering my thoughts like the physical trappings of our vacation littering our home.