525,600 minutes

We’re on a family trip.   Notice that I didn’t call it a family “vacation” because that implies rest and relaxation, which this experience does not include.   We travel about once a year, but it’s usually in conjunction with my extended family, which dramatically changes the nature of the trip.   We’ve been married for almost 20 years, but we’ve only ever been on one “trip” with just our family (besides a few 3 day weekends)-and that was more than 10 years ago.

In short, it’s a pretty big deal that we’re on a family “trip” because we almost never do it.

I’m not gonna lie: it’s been kinda stressful at times.   It’s hard to manage five people’s expectations for 12 days.   We’ve got the teenager who tires (and bores) quite easily.   We’ve got the 9 year old who wants to spend every day in art museums and gets super hyper when he gets tired and drives all of us nuts.   We’ve got the tween who is characteristically unpredictable, so she can go either way.   We’ve got Brent who wants to do all “non-tourist stuff” even though we’re in New York.   That means he wants to take a random bus or subway to an unplanned place and get off and just see what’s there, just see what regular people do.   (But did I mention that we were in New York??)  

And then there’s me.   I want to plan everything and maximize our time.   We’re spending a lot of money on this trip, so I want to use all our minutes and dollars.   I’m annoyed that we can eat breakfast for free at the bed and breakfast place next door (included with our rent), yet Brent won’t eat the toast and bagels because he wants something more interesting to eat.   I’m annoyed because we don’t get up and going in the morning (despite the fact that we were all up until midnight after having walked 14 miles the previous day in record June-New York heat).   I’m annoyed because the kids aren’t acting like they’re thrilled to be there.

In short, I can be a major buzz kill.

We woke up a few mornings ago and Brent threw his arm around me and said, “Boy, you sure are grumpy when your vision of how things are supposed to go doesn’t come to fruition.”

Well, good morning to you, too, hon.   Alas, it’s true.   I get an idea of how things are going to be and then I’m just a wee bit disgruntled when they don’t turn out.

*****

The evening after Brent had so lovingly awakened me with that little nugget of truth, we took the kids to see the Broadway show Rent, which none of us had ever seen.   (Yes, the website said it was not advised for children under 12, or maybe 10, but we took Stuart to see it nonetheless.)   We all enjoyed it-the music was fun, the set was amazing, and the messages of love and acceptance and difference were beautiful.  

One of the songs, Seasons of Love, asks how to measure a life:

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life?

The next day, we bought the soundtrack.   This song is the kids’ favorite, so we’ve been listening to it ad nauseam since then.   How to measure a life or, in this case, a family trip?

I shouldn’t measure this vacation (or life!) in terms of plans failed or delayed or in terms of minutes spent (wasted?) trying to get the iphone to “help” us do something (Brent) or in dollars spent buying water before one of us (Stuart) DIES of thirst or in eye rolls from my tween or teen daughters or in kicks/slaps between siblings as we wait for the subway or in free breakfasts not eaten or or or . . .

I should measure this vacation in belly laughs or in tasty treats or in miles walked or fears conquered (Stuart) or in pictures taken (I think I’m up to a shameful 1500 or so) or in smiles from the kids or in blissful moments of sibling cooperation or in pages read (a lot!) or in spontaneous hugs and whispered “Thanks for today”s from my 15 year old or or or . . .