Having just returned from a brief getaway, I experienced a milestone moment: for the first time, I left my children home alone without adult supervision. Before anyone rushes to call child protective services, allow me to clarify that half of my household consists of, ahem, adults. At least, according to their identification cards, they are. So legally, I was in the clear.
Even with “quasi-adults” in the mix, I won’t pretend it was stress-free. In the days leading up to my departure, I felt my hair thinning and a wave of unease settled in my stomach. Nightmarish headlines haunted my dreams: “Neglectful Parents Meet Tragic End During Vacation” … “Home Alone Kids Arrested for Snack Theft After Parents Leave Them with Nothing” … “Damages Totaling $20,000 at Party House After Parents Abandon Teens.” What on earth was I thinking?
For the record, my husband and I often engage in debates over everyday issues—parenting decisions, furniture arrangements, even what to order for appetizers. However, when he proposed the idea of a solo trip over six months ago, it hardly seemed worth arguing over; the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. We scored an incredible deal on flights and accommodations, our oldest child was approaching 21, and the younger three were mostly independent (hygiene habits aside, which I suspect won’t improve anytime soon). Plus, our neighborhood watch is outstanding; I knew my phone would serve as a reliable lifeline if any trouble arose.
However, as the departure date approached, I began to second-guess my comfort level with the decision. “My parents left me home alone for a week when I was in high school,” my husband reminded me. I responded with the classic wife look (a knowing nod from all the wives out there).
In preparation, I spent days cooking, creating endless lists, and sending messages to every neighbor within reach of my home. I even threatened my children with consequences that would make Achilles shudder. If the situation turned into chaos while I was away, it was going to be a race to see who would spill the beans first.
Finally, we packed our bags and set off for a three-day trip to Myrtle Beach with friends who also appreciate a good Happy Hour. Myrtle Beach is a lovely destination, albeit swelteringly hot in August (could the hot weather explain the necessity for Happy Hours? I think so).
Though three days may not seem extensive, we made the most of our time, indulging in plenty of relaxation and laughter. My children checked in periodically, and the neighborhood watch only contacted me once with a question. Once I realized the house hadn’t burned down and no one was being harmed, I felt much more at ease.
We opted for a rental car but frequently took cabs to stay responsible. Meanwhile, my kids were handling things well on their end.
Upon returning home, my daughter, who is 19, exhaled deeply when she saw me. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she said, collapsing onto the sofa beside me. Ah, the weight of responsibility can be quite heavy, can’t it?
My middle son, 15, was bursting with excitement to show me something. “Mom, come check this out!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing. He led me to the fruit bowl, which housed a suspiciously blackened banana and what appeared to be apples that had been around since the Clinton era. Suddenly, a swarm of fruit flies erupted. Note to self: remember to add “dispose of rotting fruit” to the list next time.
Will I do this again? Perhaps, but not for a considerable time. I need to let my hair regrow before contemplating another getaway.
This article was originally published on Sep. 23, 2011.
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Summary:
This article recounts a mother’s experience leaving her teenage children home alone for the first time while she takes a vacation with her husband. Despite initial anxieties, the trip turns out to be enjoyable, with the children managing well during her absence. The piece humorously reflects on the challenges and joys of parenting, emphasizing the balance between independence and responsibility.
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