May 28th 2019
Today my parents embarked on a three month trip around Europe in their motorhome. They’ve threatened to do it for a while. They’ve planned on doing it for a while. They’ve talked about doing it for a while. And they’ve finally done it.
Mum thinks she’s being selfish in leaving the family behind while she goes off to enjoy herself for a whole summer. I disagree. I don’t think it’s selfish at all.
Between them they’ve been raising children for a combined sixty years (which is a roundabout way of saying that my eldest sister is thirty years old) and I think after giving up all that time for someone else you deserve to spend three months on yourself. Well, six months, I guess, if you continue to follow my roundabout and arbitrary logic of doubling the amount of time spent because there are two people involved in parenthood.
I’ve repeatedly told her that “You’ve done your bit. You’ve raised three kids into (somewhat-)successful, (reasonably) high-functioning adults. We’ve all travelled the world because you’ve given us the opportunity to live our lives selfishly, and now it’s your turn to do the same.”
To be fair, when I’ve told her that previously it wasn’t perhaps quite as eloquent as that, because speaking it out loud I don’t have the fortune of line-editing.
The kids are alright. We’ve all turned out well. Between us we have four degrees, two mortgages and one husband. (I only have one of those things and it’s neither a mortgage or a husband)
They have between them completed raising children, and all of the challenges that come with that. (of which I’m sure there were a couple)
Mum’s scared, and apprehensive, and nervous, but she should be excited. Because fifty(ish) years into life, they can start living. And living for themselves. And that is not something to be ashamed of, but something to embrace, and to celebrate.
I hope they have a fabulous time.
Until tomorrow, enjoy yourselves.