My Ideal Travel

My husband, Marlboro Man, and I very rarely travel. After a long honeymoon in Australia, we immediately started having babies and didn’t stop until all four of the upstairs bedrooms were filled. But the great thing is, when we do travel, he and I want exactly the same thing.

My husband grew up on the cattle ranch where we now live, and his childhood was marked by long days of work and very little time off. And now that he and his brother run the place, there’s even less time for leisure. One thing’s for certain, though: when Marlboro Man goes on vacation, he doesn’t want it to have anything with the great outdoors. He doesn’t want to go exploring, go camping, go hiking, or take part in any extreme adventures. He simply wants a five-star hotel room, far away from the ranch, far away from cattle and sweat and dirt, where he can completely relax. He wants a great TV so he can watch movies, and he wants great restaurants close-by so he can occasionally break for an awesome meal. When it comes to vacation, he’s very easy to please: just give the man a sweet hotel room and he’s happy as a clam.

It just so happens that I feel almost exactly the same way. After having four children in seven years, I find that my idea of “vacation” involves holing up in a nice hotel room, veging out with my husband, and occasionally breaking to have some kind of indulgent spa treatment, preferably one that involves lots of poking, prodding, and pore cleaning. Vacation, to me, means no laundry. No picking up. No cooking or emptying dishwashers or tending to the needs of anyone under the age of twelve.

We took such a vacation a few years ago, when I was about six months pregnant with our third child. We drove to Chicago and stayed in The Peninsula for eight glorious days. I shopped for shoes, even though my ankles were swollen. Marlboro Man watched an average of four movies every day. I ate lobster six nights in a row, and each day I had a different spa treatment. When we pulled away from the hotel in Chicago, dewy and glowy and refreshed, I said to Marlboro Man, “I think we should move here! This was great!” Then we both cracked up, well aware that everyone probably feels that way when they take a great vacation.

Someday, when our kids have left the house, when our lives have slowed down to a more comfortable pace, Marlboro Man and I might change our travel preferences a bit. We might decide we want to take in a museum or two, or see some other historic sites. We might even go camping someday, though I wouldn’t hold your breath. But for now, just stick us in a great hotel in a large city and we’ll think we’ve died and gone to heaven.