A trip to Florida for Grandma’s 95th birthday – and the strange gift of sleep
This past weekend, I did something I haven’t done since becoming a dad of two: I got on a plane without my kids.
No car seat to lug. No diaper bag to pack. No toddler asking “are we there yet?” before we’ve even left the driveway.
Just me. A carry-on. And a direct flight to Florida to celebrate my grandmother’s 95th birthday.
And honestly? It felt weird.
The Strange Silence
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about traveling without kids after you’ve had them: you don’t know what to do with yourself.
I got to the airport early. Not “early because we need buffer time for meltdowns” early. Actually early. I sat at the gate, scrolled my phone, and… that was it. No one was climbing on me. No one needed a snack. No one was asking why airplanes have wings.
On the plane, I put in my headphones. Watched a movie. The whole movie. In one sitting. I didn’t have to pause it once.
It should have felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like I’d forgotten something important.
95 Years of Grandma
But this trip wasn’t about me – it was about celebrating a woman who’s seen nearly a century of life.
Ninety-five years. Think about that. She’s lived through the Great Depression, World War II, the moon landing, the internet, and now she’s got great-grandkids who FaceTime her on iPads. The world has completely transformed around her, and she’s still here, still sharp, still the center of our family.
Being there for her birthday – really being there, fully present, not chasing a toddler around the party – felt like a gift. For both of us.
The Guilty Pleasure of Sleep
I’m just going to say it: I slept.
Like, actually slept. Through the night. No baby monitor going off. No little voice saying “Daddy, I need water.” No 5 AM wakeup calls.
I woke up in a quiet hotel room, confused for a moment about where I was. Then I realized I’d slept for eight straight hours and didn’t know what to do with myself.
Part of me felt guilty. Amanda was home with both kids, handling bedtime and early mornings solo. But she insisted I go. “You need this,” she said. And she was right.
Sometimes the best thing you can do for your family is take a beat. Recharge. Come back as a better version of yourself.
Missing the Chaos
By day two, the strangest thing happened: I missed the chaos.
I missed Kayden’s endless questions. I missed Madison’s little sounds. I missed the weight of a baby sleeping on my chest and the constant soundtrack of toys and tantrums and laughter.
I FaceTimed them, and Kayden immediately asked, “Daddy, when are you coming home?” And I felt it – that pull. That invisible thread that connects you to your kids no matter how far away you are.
The quiet was nice. But the quiet isn’t home.
Coming Back Different
I landed back home tired from traveling but rested in a deeper way. The kind of rest you don’t realize you need until you get it.
Kayden ran to me at the door. Madison was asleep in Amanda’s arms. The house was a mess. Toys everywhere. The usual beautiful chaos.
And I was so happy to be back in it.
Sometimes you need to step away to remember why you love being in the middle of it all.
Happy 95th, Grandma. Thanks for the reminder.