I Came, I Saw, I Conquered: The Family Vacation

We meet again.

 Maybe I'm belaboring on my vacation a bit too much -- you've already had to hear my lead-in to my vacation, then my recap on returning to London -- but if you've loyally read my insightful posts (I use both "loyally" and "insightful" loosely), then you probably noticed that I left out mentioning just over half of my trip...until now! A month later and I still wish I was back there. Blame it on Kinder Eggs withdrawal or maybe a nostalgia for a guilt-free binge on pizza, pasta and gelato, but my visit to Italy is still on my mind.

Unlike the first leg of my trip where I was travelling solo, hoping to spend my days leisurely enjoying old sights and friends, I went to Rome (and Florence!) to visit my brother, who had been studying there since January. Not only would I be seeing my brother for the first time in months, but my parents were going to meet me and my brother there as well. Talk about switching gears.

My days in London consisted of sleeping in, sporadically gorging myself on snacks and big meals, and trying to survive night after night in a different club. I knew that my trip to Rome would be a completely different pace, not only because of the cultural differences between the UK and Italy, but because, well, I was suddenly going from one-time-pseudo-local to obnoxious American tourist sans fanny-pack. Instead of being able to seamlessly hop from tube stop to tube stop, I'd be dragging around my camera and map, hoping not to annoy anyone as I tried to get the perfect picture in front of the Colosseum with the obligatory cheesy grin.

Oh, hello, Colosseum. Lookin' good for your age

Not only was I going from familiar to foreign, but this time, I had travel companions in tow: my family. This was not your typical family vacation of yore. I can remember, as a kid, going to places that were pretty kid-friendly: beach resorts, Cape houses, Disney World, etc. Those vacations were pretty heavily structured mainly because of the fact that, at eight years old, I could barely tie my shoes let alone have a sense of time management needed to move the vacation along. I was incapable not only of packing for myself, but basically figuring out how to manage in this new vacation zone. Heck, I passed out on a ferry en route to Disney World -- do you think that I was capable of providing any input aside from "I need to take a picture with Cinderella!?" Exactly.

This time, my brother and I not only had more say as to what we wanted to do and when, but we were more familiar with being abroad than my parents. Yes, my parents' travel experience may trump ours in terms of being prepared, but when it came down to interacting with locals, figuring out the best schedule for sightseeing and being aware of the nuances of travel abroad, our suggestions suddenly held some legitimate weight.

There was less of a divide between us and our parents . We were no longer helpless or relegated to strollers. My parents could safely take a picture without the fear that we would wander off. We could go into a bathroom alone, and my parents would be rest-assured that not only would we emerge unscathed, but we wouldn't get lost en route back to them. My brother and I had become travellers in our own right, capable of navigating, adapting to the cultural differences and able to problem-solve when needed. The pressure of needing to take care of my brother and me in addition to planning the day-to-day activities of travel could finally be taken off -- we can take care of ourselves, we can help figure out how to spend our time on the trip, and better yet, we can all enjoy and appreciate everything we were doing.

I'll admit, it isn't quite a family vacation without an argument, but for the most part, my family and I were able to enjoy all aspects of our time together. Not only did we bond over being able to visit the Colosseum or admire the Sistine Chapel together, but we could all recognize the overwhelming impressiveness of each of these historical, artistic and cultural sights. Seeing these things for the first time was something that we did together -- and whenever we think back on seeing Michelangelo's David or walking through Palatine Hill, we'll think of being together too. We were able to share an knowing appreciation for the sights as opposed to just checking off another item on the tourist to-do list.

I suppose you can see why, despite being firmly grounded here in Boston, my thoughts occasionally float back to my trip a mere month ago. The sights, the food, the lack of alarm clocks... It's amazing that I was even able to convince myself to return home. In the mean time, I look forward to the family trips of the future -- who knows where we'll all go next?!

If You're Lucky Enough to Get a Date While Living at Home...

I don't like looking at this picture very much...
but it seemed relevant... sadly.

By now, you should know that I live with my parents – if not from the fact that you have read multiple blog posts, then from the tone of self-pity and shame that haunts each of my posts. And while this actually doesn’t pose many problems, it does become a bit of an issue with one certain aspect of my life: dating.

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I am not a female lothario. I could hardly be classified as a man-eater unless you want to get into the consumption and gender of my breakfast, lunch and dinner.  However, if you have even semi-interested and involved parents, then you might see how living at home can be the cause of chronic “awkward turtle” moments at the beginning of whatever budding relationship makes its way to my front door.

Any time I have gone on a first date that involves a suitor picking me up, my polite date has (usually) had the common decency to come to my door. If I lived alone or with other 20-somethings, this would not be any sort of production. In fact, it would probably be standard practice. But with my parents? This seemingly innocent moment in my fledgling of a relationship becomes fair game for them. What should be the moment my date and I lock eyes and ignite some sort of romantic fire instead becomes a verbal assault and battery as this male suitor faces my inquisitive “roommates.”

Once I can finally maneuver past my parents, shuffling my date past their barrage of questions and threats, I can breathe. Sort of. At least now, if anything embarrassing happens, it’s my fault. The date is back within my control (for the most part) and the only person I have to blame for its subsequent failure is myself. If he managed to look past my sort-of innocently-curious parents and then later seems to be exiting out of the restaurant bathroom window after I talk to him? Well, we all know the cause of that.

For the most part, he and I can laugh it off and attribute it to my parents’ always-endearing love for me, and then move on to our inevitable awkward chit-chat and sizing-up of each other… Until my date brings me home.

As he will pull up in front of my house, I make sure to check for any possible beady eyes peering out of windows. My second-check is for my dog, whose first reaction to anything within his line of vision from the window (or front yard) is to bark – loudly. When he does this, I know that whoever is within even a mile’s earshot will be notified that I have probably returned home and am experiencing that awkward moment at the end of a date where we need to decide if we’re going to shake hands, hug, kiss or just run as fast as possible away from each other. If this last parting moment between me and my date happens in the car, then at least I have a steel casing protecting me from the vision of my parents, dog and hopefully neighbors. However, if my date is really trying to step up his chivalry game and takes me to the door? I cross my fingers  and hope that my brother isn't positioned just so on the couch that he can see out the window and onto our front doorstep – a front row audience member to some guy’s attempt to end the date with something more than a nice pat on the back and “call you never.”

If I manage to make it through those final parting moments without any witnesses, I still am not yet in the clear. Believe me, I have tried to dodge past my family’s almost-meddling interest while en route to my room – but it somehow seems that I can never make it into my room before being met with a “so how was it?” And I’ll be honest, I usually don’t mind this. In fact, I do enjoy a little recap of the day/night’s events – if not just because I probably like to hear myself speak, then because I need someone to know all of the events to later help me overanalyze everything. But in those rare moments when I want to savor my experience all by myself? I will inevitably have to share something to appease the curiosity of my parents. I can’t spend a few hours with some person they have never met and then NOT tell them even a smidgeon of information– is that even possible? Any silence on my part may lead them to believe that I have just spent an hour playing mini-golf and getting ice cream with a sociopath.

Trying to keep things from my parents in general is nearly impossible for me. Not only am I a terrible liar, but I respect and love my parents and want them to know what is going on with me. I will admit, though, that there are times that this can be difficult. After all, I cannot separate what I want to share with what I don’t want to share because I live with them. They see the events of my life unfolding simply because they’re around and they can see who picks me up, who’s calling me on the phone and even who sends me flowers (even though that rarely happens -- they can still see it!).

Let's be real here. When I order something online (usually shoes... always shoes), my parents are usually the ones who retrieve it from the front doorstep and know about its arrival before I do. I can't even keep the new purchases in my life a secret from them -- how am I supposed to keep a budding relationship, something that is decidedly more important than shoes (barely), from them?

It is one of the trade-offs of living at home. Although I have been living back at home for over a year now, I am still trying to find a way to balance my new adult (sort-of) life with the comforts that come from moving back in with your parents. I am not the same person I was when I lived there back in high school and my dating patterns are certainly more different. No -- I definitely do NOT bring anyone back to my house after a successful date -- but still, even if I felt the need to extend my date to an evening romp, do I really even have a choice? (And, parents, I know you are reading this, I am not trying to offend you! -- side note: they are probably the majority of my readers) I guess the issue here is that I do not have the choice to choose the information and potentially filter it or share it the way (and on the timeline) that I want to because they see everything happening in real time.When I am hurt by a guy or when I go through a breakup, they see the tears and the pain -- so even if I want to keep it to myself, I really can't. Of course, I always eventually tell them what's going on, but I never have a moment where something can be just mine when I'm located just down the hall from them. I do not have the luxury of having a first date, processing it and then calling up my mom to tell her the highlights because there is no time to process.

I am forever grateful to my awesome "roomies" for letting me stay at home and save a few bucks, so I don't mean to sound unappreciative -- because I am! But I do think that part of growing up and becoming more independent means having to work through situations and sift through information on your own. You will be able to formulate your own resolutions to problems and your own opinions about people and information before it becomes offered up for dinner table conversation. However, it is part of the experience of living at home and learning to manage with current circumstances.

I'd also like to point out I realize that I also am cramping my parents' "dating" habits. My mom said to me, "Did you ever think that maybe you get in the way of us wanting to...[be romantic]" (I'm editing her sentence, but you can interpret that as you wish) to which I could only reply TOUCHÉ!

Thoughts? Comments? Smacking your forehead with your hand? Doh?