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Recently in Salon Mothers Who Think

Where have all the Eddie Haskells gone?
The daughter of a cool mom attempts to carry on the tradition, only to find that there are no smarmy, well-groomed takers for her act.
By Karen Karbo
[09/24/99]

Give me a dick or give me death!
Today I am a femme with an inner soft butch, but as a child, I failed to meet the demands of either gender.
By Kera Bolonik
[09/23/99]

Shopping online -- for children
For children who have waited years for a family to adopt them, the Internet may be the last hope.
By Nell Bernstein
[09/22/99]

School's out for Eid
The battle over school closure for religious holidays heats up as Muslims and Hindus demand equal time off for their children.
By Michael Kress
[09/21/99]

The Borrowers
They're not looking for a lifetime commitment. They're just looking for a kid to come out and play with them.
By Eve Pell
[09/20/99]

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This was not the original plan, to bring children. We were prepared to leave home without them. And we tried. For months we exchanged e-mails and phone calls, fantasized about camping in Point Reyes, a condo in Palm Springs, various California spas. But as the weeks ticked by it became clear that we were literally going nowhere.

"Why can't we do this?" Maura asked in frustration one day on the phone.

"I don't know," I said weakly. "Our lives are too complicated?"

Actually, I knew full well. Men do this all the time, have yearly reunions with their friends at ski resorts in Telluride or golf courses in Scotland or casinos in Vegas. I'd rather eat nails, frankly, than spend a minute playing golf, even in Scotland, but the point is that many of the fathers I know do it. They get away with their male friends, never fearing the onset of crippling guilt (a condition of motherhood they should warn you about the second you think of getting pregnant).

In the end, my friend and I were too exhausted by the thought of all the arrangements we'd have to make to go by ourselves. Her husband travels, mine has writing deadlines, plus we both have demanding jobs. Sure, the dads could take the reins, would probably even enjoy the novelty of providing total childcare for three or four days, but then we'd have to hear about it for six months -- the sacrifices they made, the fights they had to referee. Or -- and this is almost worse -- they would regale us with stories about how beautifully the children behaved in our absence. We finally conceded that if we waited to find a good weekend, it might be the millennium before we saw each other.

Our solution was to take the kids and leave the husbands, who would undoubtedly change the dynamic. (I can hear the battles over Nickelodeon vs. CNN and the ESPN vs. HBO now.) The men wouldn't want to do what we did. We'd have to worry about pleasing them, on top of the kids. The unvarnished truth was, we'd have more fun if they didn't come.

And we did.

When I look back now, it was one of those golden trips when everything went smoothly. "Can you believe this?" my friend and I would say to each other. Parking spaces opened up upon our arrival; a pod of dolphins rose from the Pacific as we munched hamburgers on the pier. Even the first day at Disneyland, which I normally find about as appealing as dental surgery, I didn't completely loathe. The lines were reasonable, the heat bearable and the kids readily agreed which rides they wanted to go on and in what order.

We booked adjoining rooms and focused on forbidden leisure. Most of the time the kids were huddled in one room doing their thing, while my friend I occupied the other, the door firmly closed. We actually relaxed in a way that I would never permit myself to do at home. One morning we lounged around in our PJs until 11, the drapes still shut to the bright sun, watching a pay-for-view movie on television and idly reading the Sunday papers tossed carelessly on the bed. Every so often -- typically, when we were laughing about something -- a child would wander in and flop down on the bed, a touchstone gesture of sorts, to make sure we hadn't forgotten them. We had.

Critical to our success were our very low expectations. Once we had relinquished the Thelma and Louise vacation dreams, we established a new bottom line. If we got to have a margarita by the pool and the boys didn't squabble, it was a victory for our cause. When we actually had a good time, we were positively gleeful.

On our last day, one of those sweet unexpected moments happened, one I know we'll all remember for a long time.

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