Lessons from a Past Regret

Two months ago I stood in my kitchen holding an invitation to my best friend’s wedding. I read the print as if I didn’t already know the details. Sunday, June 16, 2013. San Diego, California. Why does it have to be in San Diego? I clipped the invitation to the refrigerator wondering how long I would wait to tell her that I had decided not to go.

Feeling guilty for my decision, I silently listed my reasons. It made me feel better. It’s not really a choice. I just can’t go.

For starters, I’ve never been a great flyer and ever since my semi-emergency landing situation in 2008, I’ve become an awful flyer. (Actually, I’ve only flown once since then but it was enough for me to know that my level of fear has skyrocketed past uneasiness and is now orbiting straight-up panic attack).

I can’t go.

And now we’ve got this house and these two kids and I don’t work and money doesn’t grow on trees and ticket prices are high – not to mention hotel rooms, meals, and the high cost of everything in California (or so I’ve heard).

I can’t go.

PLUS, I’ve never left my kids. Ever. I’ve left town without my children one time since Reese was born. One time! Matt and I went to Chicago for a weekend getaway - we didn’t even leave the state. How can I go across the country without them? What if they get sick or hurt or they just need mommy?

See?

I can’t go.

After convincing myself that this was not a choice made by me but by factors outside of my control, I made my peace with it. Her parents are having a reception here in July. I’ll go to that. There. Now I really felt better. Well, that’s the end of that.

A few weeks later, I was clearing out my office/guest room/catch-all-disaster (because I'm finally giving in to my desire for an official play room). I filled a small box with my framed diplomas, pictures, and other decorations. I paused as I grabbed the picture of my brother in his Marine uniform. That picture is all I have of the experience of his graduation. I don’t remember the ceremony. Because I wasn’t there.

I chose not to go for a lot of the same reasons. Mike had advised me against bringing Reese because of the lack of accommodations for a baby. He warned me that we would be outside all day in the heat with few (if any) convenient places to change or nurse her. As a new mom (and a generally high-strung person), I didn’t think I could handle that. But I also couldn’t handle the thought of leaving her…. AND I probably would’ve had a panic attack on the plane and I had just quit my job and money doesn’t grow on trees and...

I should’ve gone.

Until then I didn’t realize that I had never really made peace with my decision. Even though I did what I thought was best at the time, I wish I hadn’t let fear, discomfort, and uncertainty cause me to miss such an important milestone in my brother’s life.

If I could do it over again, I wouldn’t miss it.

I didn’t add his picture to the box. Instead I took it out of the frame and walked it to the kitchen. As I clipped it to the refrigerator next to Katie's wedding invitation, I saw my handwriting on the back.



People talk about living without regrets and I don't know if such a person exists, but I feel sorry for anyone who truly has none. Some of my deepest regrets and biggest mistakes have taught me the most valuable lessons of my life. Often the choices I would change if I could go back and do it over are the ones that shine a light on an opportunity to go forward and do it better.  

My flight leaves Saturday morning.

A Different Kind of Vacation

Last week we took our annual trip to Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri. It’s always a fun week of boating, swimming, shopping, eating at fun lakeside restaurants, riding the wave runner, and relaxing by the pool. It’s a typical week-long vacation – you know, a break from the responsibilities and “shoulds” of everyday life. What better opportunity for me to begin working on my little “I’m going to be a more relaxed person from now on” experiment? Let the relaxing begin, right?

Wrong! Unfortunately, I forgot to take into consideration that I am the mother of an active toddler and there is no vacation from that role. There is no vacation from planning her meals and naps, from coming back to the condo early to avoid a late bedtime, from keeping one eye - and also often a hand - on her at all times to prevent her from falling into the pool or eating rocks. When we went out to eat, Matt and I took turns following her around the restaurant as she weaved through all the tables and blew kisses to random strangers. When we went to the pool, we took turns following her around the deck, steering her away from the deep end and the stairs and other people’s beach bags.

Sure, I still got to read a little and jet-ski a little and go out on the boat a little and sit in the sun a little, but I can’t help but compare it to all my past vacations where I did all of those things a lot. Vacations where I got to enjoy a cup of coffee in the morning and a glass of wine before dinner. Vacations where I got to eat every meal without any interruptions. Vacations where I didn’t have to spend time every day in the condo because my kid needed a nap. Throughout the week I saw lots of people reading books and sunning themselves, and I wondered how long it would be before I would have some of my freedom back.

At one point, I was following Reese around the pool deck and people kept making comments like, “Thirteen months, huh? Such a fun age!” An older man hanging out in the shallow end said, “Ah, the walking-like-Frankenstein stage! Isn’t it cute?” Another mom sitting at a table with her kids said, “They never seem to get tired, do they?” After about the 4^th comment from an obviously seasoned parent, something clicked for me. I realized that all of these people have done this. They’ve all been here. They’ve all sacrificed parts of their summer vacations during the demanding toddler years. They all probably struggled with the guilt of wishing for a little more freedom. And they all got their wish.

We all get our wish eventually. We all get our freedom back. But all that means is that our toddlers aren’t toddlers anymore, and they’ll never be toddlers again. I had lots of freedom before Reese and I’ll get that freedom back when she’s older, but I only get a short time in this stage. I can read books in the sun for the rest of my life, but I only have a few years of ending my day on the boat a little early so I can go upstairs and feed and bathe and snuggle my baby. When I think about it like that, it’s easier to pass on the extra relaxation time. It’s easier to make those sacrifices. And it’s easier to enjoy the kind of vacation that comes with being the mother of a toddler.