There are moments when the door seems irresistibly inviting. Children sprawled on the floor, immersed in tantrums—it’s as if the perfect opportunity to slip away arises, to get into the car and drive off. Away from the spilled juice cups. Away from the relentless cycle of cleaning up the same messes day after day. Away from the tears, the shouts, and the endless refusals to take a nap.
The temptation to leave everything behind and seek solace is strong. Thoughts of an empty beach on a perfect day flood the mind—ice-cold drinks in hand, with only the sound of waves lapping against the shore breaking the silence. The salty air fills each calming breath, promising a moment of tranquility and personal space devoid of kids squabbling over toys or invading your bubble. Just peace.
Yet, reality sets in. The path to the door is cluttered with Legos and remnants of a lunch that took painstaking effort to prepare, only to be discarded in seconds. The exit is obstructed; the wails of children drown out dreams of beach escapes, dragging the mind back to the chaos of the present.
It wasn’t always this way. In the early days of parenthood, infants seemed so manageable. It was easy to think that the kids in this house would be little angels—every meal consumed gratefully, toys tidily stored away, and crafts so perfect that even Ikea would want to feature them in their next catalog.
However, the reality is that parenting only becomes more challenging. Days pass with hair in disarray, and the only bags packed for an escape are the dark circles under weary eyes that have been open far longer than seems humanly possible. If those eyes don’t remain alert, and the body they inhabit doesn’t keep moving, the household descends into chaos. Piles of laundry create a landscape of discarded toys, while Cheerios scatter like dust across sticky surfaces, mingling with puddles formed by tipped juice cups.
The door beckons. If only the little shoes scattered about weren’t creating a blockade, perhaps an escape might be achievable. The thought of warm water washing away the stress of being a hands-on parent feels tangible. Digging feet into warm sand sounds far more appealing than deftly navigating around messes in a house that desperately needs tidying.
This week has seen nap time completely disregarded for the third time. Parents don’t get naps; they get to wash dishes and tidy up quietly while the kids recharge, only to unleash more havoc upon the home.
When the distinction between being a good parent and losing one’s sanity begins to blur, the allure of the door intensifies. Just one more scream could turn that dream of the beach into a reality.
Then, a glimmer of hope shines through. A moment of calm arrives. A gentle reminder of why a beach getaway has yet to materialize comes in the simplest forms: a smile, a kiss, an “I love you.”
These small gestures soften the urge to flee. Even the roughest days can be soothed by a tender cuddle under a toddler-sized blanket that hardly covers either child or parent. Comfort is found once more. Hope, love, and a sense of sanity are restored, if only for a fleeting moment. In that instant, the chaotic mess fades into the background, and love rekindles the choice to stay instead of escape.
The beach may beckon with its promise of serenity, but it would lack the pure joy derived from those precious moments shared between parent and child. Thus, the door remains closed, the car stays parked in the driveway, and those bags under the eyes remain unpacked. It’s demanding. Some days feel nearly impossible. While the thought of a private beach is enticing, love has surged in, reminding us why leaving isn’t an option.