I consider my mom the crème de la crème of mothers. She was the involved kind; always pulling out crafts, baking cookies, and making you feel deeply loved.
But as a grandma, she’s the first to admit things haven’t unfolded the way she imagined.
I can’t think of a time when my three kids, ages 2, 8, and 13, had my parents entirely to themselves. Sometimes my parents feel more like aunts and uncles to my kids than grandparents.
My parents have sacrificed a lot to be full-time caretakers
I’m the oldest of eight children, five of whom were adopted. Growing up, our home was full, loud, and exciting, making one-on-one time with my parents a rare occurrence. Still, I snagged spare moments with them when I could — helping paint a room or keeping them company on an errand.
That hasn’t changed much in the last three decades. While many of their empty-nest friends are traveling and downsizing, my parents are still full-time caretakers. Four of my siblings, ranging from 10 to 22, still live at home.
I never thought they’d say yes to a weekend away
When I floated the idea of a multigenerational family weekend away — timed around fall leaf peeping in Stowe, Vermont — I didn’t expect much.
Honestly, I asked my in-laws first. They often travel with us and have more flexibility. When they couldn’t take time off work, I hesitated before calling my parents. Not because I didn’t think they’d want to come, but because their schedules rarely allow for that kind of freedom.
“We’d love to!” my mom said, to my surprise. “Let me see if we can get a babysitter for your sister. And the boys will be fine for a weekend. I’ll just make them extra meals.”
I was stunned.
The trip meant more to me than I anticipated
From the moment we boarded the plane, the trip felt special. My kids snuggled in next to their grandparents — and my daughter even willingly did her schoolwork with Nana.
As we descended, the landscape glowed orange, yellow, and red. It was postcard-perfect, but more importantly, it was free from caretaking responsibilities on their end.
We stayed at a cozy, family-friendly lodge at the base of Mount Mansfield, where the kids raided the pancake bar each morning with Papa Pat, and we admired the fall foliage from our windows and during walks along the nearby creek.
Through slow breakfasts, maple sugaring, and wandering downtown, I watched my parents finally step into the role of grandparents in a way they’d never had the space to before.
At night, we played hide and seek in our suite (my parents somehow won every round), put on puppet shows rehashing the day’s events, and sat for long, savory dinners (as much as you can with a toddler).
My dairy-free dad made the mistake of trying Stowe’s famous maple ice cream and spent the rest of the trip pretending to gag whenever it was mentioned. My 13-year-old son thought it was hilarious and whispered, “maple creemie” at him at random. My dad played along every time.
My 2-year-old learned to say “Papa Pat,” and my 8-year-old thought her Nana was the coolest person alive after discovering her hide-and-seek skills. The weekend was stress-free and quiet.
I didn’t realize how much we all needed that until we had it. My kids are more excited when they see my parents now, and for their part, my parents have promised more one on one time with my kids.
Though foster care and adoption have enriched my parents’ lives in countless ways, it also means they’ve sacrificed most of their free time. But for a few days, we were able to reclaim some of that lost time, which is what made our weekend in Stowe unforgettable.
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