Thelife- Traveling with my 80-year-old mom and my three sons, who are 15, 17, and 21, was exhausting.
- Different family members have different ideas about what will make the vacation great.
When I booked a short spring-break vacation, I thought of this trip as a chance for my 80-year-old mom to bond with my sons, who are 15, 17, and 21. I envisioned trading New Jersey's gloomy, gray skies for South Florida's warmth and enjoying relaxing beach days and casual, but nice, dinners together.
Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way. Everyone had a different vision for this vacation, and spending lots of time together in a new setting proved to be a surefire way to get on each other's nerves. Here's how things went awry and why I'll never take this show on the road again.
Mixed generations, mixed results
Halfway to the airport, I got a glimpse of how this getaway might go when my mom asked, "My bag made it into the car, right?"
It hadn't. We made a U-turn and found her luggage in our living room. She'd thought that Sam, my oldest, was going to put it in the trunk — he claimed that the car had been locked, so he'd brought it inside and expected her to handle it from there.
Still, we made it to the airport with ample time, which was good because my mom was flagged for attempting to smuggle water and a gallon of sunscreen in her carry-on.
As we waited at the gate, she worried about an unattended bag nearby. "Do you know who owns this?" she asked strangers, determined to foil a terrorist as my sons popped in their earbuds and pretended we weren't related to her.
Our next hurdle was the Airbnb we rented. Since there were five of us, renting a house seemed more spacious and affordable than booking two hotel rooms. But as we rolled up to a nondescript ranch in a no-frills neighborhood, groans filled our rented minivan.
"This is it?" my mother gasped as if I'd promised her a suite at The Four Seasons. We'd barely put down our bags when I heard my mother dictating a text to one of my brothers: "Your sister got duped. She was completely fooled by the online photos. That's how they get you."
They were constantly bickering
The same woman who was unimpressed by this freshly renovated, $450-per-night lodging insisted that we get Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. Somehow, I'd blocked out my mother's passion for fast food. While I hadn't planned to hit the hottest eateries in South Beach, I hadn't pictured us grazing out of a red-and-white-striped bucket during our first night in town. I went with it because I wasn't up for a battle.
We'd barely finished our 16-piece family meal when Sam, a sophomore in college, threw me a curveball: he had homework due in a few hours. He said the subject — differential equations — was nearly impossible, but, luckily, he had a classmate in Miami willing to help.
When I told Sam "no" and explained that we had plans to see a Mets spring-training game and visit relatives the following day, he pouted.
I slipped away to a small bedroom for a moment of peace, only to have Ben follow me. Like a one-man Greek chorus, he whispered, "Can you believe how bad this vacation is going already? Grammy is obsessed with finding an IHOP because she has a gift card, and Sam thinks you're a jerk for not letting him party with his friends."
Before I could answer, my mother screamed, "Are you two all right in there?"
My mom worried about everything
Her worrying seemed endless. Each time I parked the car, she was convinced I didn't understand how the meters worked. She fretted that I'd overpay for gas, warning that "they charge more closer to the airport."
We trekked to the ocean, stopping for sunscreen.
As I waded into the Atlantic with Charlie, my youngest, the only one who was content to go with the flow, I contemplated swimming back to New Jersey. Looking forward to a vacation ending seemed as unnatural as refusing seconds at Thanksgiving, and yet, that's where I was. I'd wanted us to create lasting memories, but all we were doing was stirring up bad feelings.
When we strolled the boardwalk at lunchtime, my mom lagged 10 feet behind while my sons strode 10 feet ahead. If a fellow pedestrian blocked her view of one of her grandsons, my mom panicked. "Where's Sam?" she'd yell. "Sam?"
"He's 6-foot-2, I don't think anyone can just run off with him anymore," I told her.
We are not doing this again
"Just an FYI," Ben said that evening. "This is my last family vacation."
I wanted to tell him to not be so ungrateful; that he was lucky to have gone on a trip with his family. But all I could think was, "Same."
How had I thought I could keep everyone happy simultaneously? Should I have set some ground rules — each person gets to choose an activity or restaurant, and the rest go along with it happily? Should I have imposed mandatory, toddler-style time-outs for everyone, including myself?
Don't get me wrong; we had some laughs, and plenty of french fries.
As we packed up the van to head to the airport for our flight home, my mom took a long look at the Airbnb.
"I'd stay here again, how about you?" she asked.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that this would never happen again.