This past summer, my husband and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary.  While other couples planned international trips to celebrate theirs, we were thrilled to steal away for two nights to Brattleboro, Vermont.  In fact, I told everyone that we were so excited you’d have thought we were headed to Tahiti.  Might as well have been.  Getaways for parents of three are few and far between – so that even a couple of nights two states away felt exotic.

So did uninterrupted conversations, gourmet meals, and a bottle of champagne.  Wandering in and out of little shops without fear of little hands ripping items off shelves.  Sitting and staring into space because there was no immediate need to which to attend.

Our last morning, as we sat on the bluestone patio overlooking the grounds eating breakfast, we chatted with a couple seated next to us.  Their teenaged daughter was attending a nearby summer camp.  When they found out the young ages of our children, they realized the special nature of our getaway.

“But you must be looking forward to getting home, right?” asked the man.

My husband nodded.  “Yes, it’ll be good to see them.”

When I failed to respond, his gaze landed on me.  “I could do with another day away,” I finally said.

Maybe I was paranoid that I would be judged as a bad mother, but I watched for a grimace on his face.  Instead, I noticed the nod from his wife.  Her face affirmed everything I felt.  Her daughter may have been well past the toddler phase, but she seemed to remember all too well the strain of care giving as a twenty-four hour job.

And later that day, we were back to our twenty-four hour a day job.  And yes, I was glad to see my children.  But a few months later, when we received the save-the-date card for a friend’s wedding – in Vermont – we were excited to once again be able to plan a weekend away.

Certainly, we wouldn’t have been going on another weekend so soon without the valid excuse of celebrating our friends’ plunge into marital bliss.  Nor would we have been going if it weren’t for my in-laws’ gracious offer to take the kids for two nights.  But things seemed to be shaping up in our favor for a fun and ‘adult’ weekend.

We stayed at the inn where all the festivities of the wedding weekend were to be held and where all the other wedding guests were staying.  We caught up with friends we hadn’t seen in months or years.  We ate.  We drank.

We still woke up at 7:45 each morning.

As excited as I was to get away, I still felt guilty when in an icebreaker game of bingo used to introduce guests by their attributes, I identified myself by ‘left kids at home to come to this wedding’.

I felt like a curiosity when single guests at the wedding identified us as the couple the bride and groom were so excited could come since we never get out.

And by no means, was the irony lost on me that as the wedding party moved outside for nightcaps and sledding down the hill behind the inn, my husband and I watched through the window, warm and comfortable on cozy chairs with another couple, discussing our children and home improvements.

A weekend away is difficult for many reasons, I guess.  Finances.  Finding babysitters.  Saying goodbye to the kids.  Forgetting your responsibilities.  Remembering how to relax and reconnect.

Someday, it’ll be easier.  Someday, we may even get to Tahiti (which, by the way, is where the newlyweds went on their honeymoon).