 We recently went on vacation. It was there that I learned a mother is a mother, even in paradise.
The palm trees bent lazily in the wind off the Atlantic Coast.
The blue
hues of the ocean made our hearts swell with joy. The earth, dusty,
barren and covered with lava rock, reminded us we were a long way from
home. And we were glad about it.
At the airport, we were greeted by sun-burned staff who took their jobs
seriously. They were friendly, welcoming, uplifting. We couldn’t
believe they spoke German. In fact, they were German (although the
island has belonged to Spain for upwards of 500 years). It astounded us
that Germans could be that forthcoming. The gates to the land of
possibility swung open the moment we saw them smile into our
travel-weary faces.
We had booked a week’s vacation on the Canary Islands off the coast of
West Africa. Landing in Fuerteventura, our stone cold bones felt the
shock of a gentle breeze caressing us back to life. We blinked into the
sun in disbelief. Somewhere it was warm. And that somewhere was here.
I had begun the week saying to my husband, “Let’s make this the week of
‘yes’!” If our children wanted ice cream at 9 a.m., by golly! They
could have it. We wanted things to go smoothly, happily, and without a
lot of stress. Quickly, we noticed our children struggled with our
sudden permissiveness. They did not really want us to say “yes” to ice
cream at 9 am even if they thought they did in the very moment they
asked. They felt lost, and we noticed how uncomfortable they were
without boundaries. My son acted up, my daughter became cranky, and we
realized the week of “yes” meant saying “yes” to loving discipline even
on vacation.
Parenting in paradise can be a drag, especially if your three-year-old
child is running around the pool without a flotation device, but with a
lollipop in his mouth. There were moments in our vacation village in
which I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West. While my children kept
looking for my broom on which they could send me to the harvest moon, I
pondered why they still challenged me. Didn’t they know we were on
vacatoin? Didn’t they know we needed a break? What I didn’t know when
we booked our luxury visit was children require a mother, even on
vacation.
Children require a mother to tell them to sit on their tushies while eating their spaghetti.
Children require a mother to limit their TV time.
Children require a mother to provide them with food, even if she didn’t have to cook it.
Children require a mother to help them learn how to swim.
Children require a mother to hand them a sun-warmed towel after they come out of the pool, shivering and blue-lipped.
Children require a mother to get them some juice, even if it comes from a soda fountain that is just out of their reach.
Children require a mother to bathe them at night, read them stories
when they’re tired from the sun and the sand, and sing them songs when
they are scared.
Children require a mother to place a Band-Aid™ on their skinned knees after tripping over sandals they haven’t worn all winter.
Mothers need their children, too. For it is they who kiss our warm
cheeks and bury their noses in our wet heads after a swim race in which
the kids win, and we laugh and laugh.
Parenting in paradise is full of surprises. It fills my heart with joy,
like the bluest hues of the ocean on a fine late winter’s day.
 Christine Louise Hohlbaum
www.DiaryofaMother.com
American author of Diary of a Mother: Parenting Stories and Other Stuff
and SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe (2005), has been
published in hundreds of publications.
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