Family Outings: Cheaper Than Therapy (But Just as Loud)
I love my life as a mom. I really do. But every once in a while, I fantasize about faking my own death and resurfacing in a quiet coastal town where no one expects me to find missing socks or explain why milk doesn’t go in the pantry.
I don’t even need anything fancy. Just a space where no one’s yelling about Wi-Fi, clogging a toilet, or asking why we’re out of “the good ketchup.” (You know the one. It has a label.)
Burnout, Bathroom Art, and Bossy Tweens
Lately, it’s been a Greatest Hits of Parental Overwhelm. For a few weeks straight, it’s been a game of flu roulette—one kid home sick, then another, then me, then the dog faking symptoms for attention.
My oldest is in the final stretch of high school, stress levels maxed out, while my 15-year-old daughter (who needs constant supervision) has developed a talent for turning any bathroom into a performance art installation using only shampoo and chaos. She’s 5’8″, resourceful, and faster than regret.
Then there’s my 11-year-old, who recently informed me he wasn’t going to school because, and I quote, “I said so and that’s all there is to it.” Bold words from someone who still needs help finding his other shoe. I reminded him that phrase only works if you’re the one who pays for the juice boxes. He nodded solemnly and got dressed. Power respected power.
When Family Outings Are the Last Resort
You’d think after all that I’d want a break from my family, not a day with them. But yesterday, in a fit of desperation and maybe mild hysteria, I suggested a family outing. Bowling, to be exact.
And something weird happened. I had fun.
I know. I didn’t expect it either. Normally, I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a glitter-covered unicorn pencil than wrangle all three kids and my husband into the car for forced fun. But there we were—bowling shoes, neon lights, and Lizzy throwing a strike like it was the Olympics.
The boys actually cheered her on. No eye-rolls, no insults. Just high-fives and sibling solidarity. And Tom, my stressy, busy teenager? He cracked a smile. A real one. Like he remembered we’re not the worst.
Even Joe, my husband and the man responsible for hiding the hand soap so well I almost filed a missing persons report, looked at our kids like they were the best thing that ever happened to him. Which made me forget I was low-key mad at him for at least three separate reasons.
Rediscovering Sanity (Until the Honey Incident)
The crankiness melted. Gratitude returned. I remembered that under the exhaustion and cereal-stuck-to-the-floor mornings, I actually like these people.
And it lasted! Right into this morning, when Lizzy discovered the honey and turned the kitchen into a bee-friendly slip ’n slide. The boys fought over TV control like it was the throne of Westeros. But still—I felt okay.
Turns out, sometimes the best cure for mom burnout isn’t solitude in a far-off land. It’s a surprisingly sweet (and slightly chaotic) family outing where you remember why you signed up for this in the first place.
Just don’t tell them I said that.
Because apparently, according to my darling family, I’m still “a little bit cranky.” But hey, progress.
dishwasher's possessed! Kathy is the author of the viral post
An Open Letter to My Teenage Son About Drinking and is a Huffington Post contributor.
Her work has been on Scary Mommy, TODAY Parents, Yahoo, and Thought Catalog, as well as other online publications. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Google+
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