No Kids Allowed

Could my husband and I really behave like adults for a whole week?

(Illustration by Kim Rosen)

It's an understatement to call parenting the ultimate mind-altering experience - sleep deprivation, two-minute attention spans, the utter constancy of it all. Once children arrive, the time for and the purpose of a marriage change. The prospect of a week away with your better half seems as wild as potty training without accidents in the library. Besides, what would you do with your spouse, in a foreign land, on the beach, alone? You'd sleep "late" (until 7), take longer than 10 minutes to eat, and go on two-hour beach walks - that's what you'd do. Oh yeah, and some of that, too.

A while back, my parents gave my husband and me a generous gift: a week in Aruba. We were excited about it, but it still took a year to make reservations. The night before we left, I wondered if I could truly focus on us as a couple. Last time we spent a week together as two, I had no C-section scars. It was just seven days, not an eternity, away from two little people who often delighted me and also sucked the life out of me.

At first, through guilt-goggles, I saw kids everywhere - the buffet line, the pool, the beach. I was determined not to call the boys every day. My husband told me I couldn't. When I finally did, I remembered why I needed this break: Our 5-year-old belched and said, "That burp tasted like hot dogs."

After three days, my shoulders relaxed, and I could enjoy lying in a mesh chair in the shade of a hut. Home life is a never-ending to-do list. I procure straws and buckle seats, play Chutes and Ladders and fishy puzzle, wipe butts, and scrape Cheerios off windows. After 8 p.m., it's laundry, bills, our computers, and maybe a goodnight kiss.

The next phone call went like this: "Hey, buddy. Having fun? Your brother cut himself on the tape measure and has a boo-boo strip? He's fine. Grandpa cooked cupcakes for dinner? Eat yours, so you can have dessert." I was in vacation mode, and now there weren't children everywhere.

All of a sudden, it was only us two. I was not responsible for keeping offspring alive and somewhat happy, but for having both Drinks of the Day, frozen and tall. My husband and talked, mostly about nothing. "Should we pause on our walk for a dip?" "What are you having in your omelet?" We snorkeled, read, and snoozed. We heard the soft roll of Caribbean waves in the moonlight and felt cool sand between our toes. We held hands and our bodies touched. And let's just say that there's a woman called Vacation Lisa, and there's a reason my husband much, much prefers her to Regular Lisa.

Then it was Friday, the day before our return. Thanks to One Happy Island, my husband and I had reconnected. We snuggled watching our last Aruba sunset. We had come full circle and genuinely wanted to be with our kids, but not before one more night that would start with a beach walk, sandals in hand.

This trip taught me some things. Extended time alone is key to a marriage. It is possible to love your husband as much as you love your children. Sex really is good for your skin. And when you're on your fourth Drink of the Day, it doesn't matter that it isn't top-shelf.

Back at Logan, I waited for our bags, my eyes darting around. I was ready for the constancy again. I heard four Velcro sneakers at warp speed, and I saw our boys.

My husband opened his carry-on. We'd gotten trinkets at a fair, but he pulled out the pieces de resistance, lifted from the morning buffet - two single-serving boxes of Frosted Flakes.

"Little cereal boxes!" my older yelled, jumping up and down. "Sweet!"

My younger had already ripped into his: "Mmm."

The four of us and my parents crunched spilled flakes on our way to the minivan. I sat in the back with my mom, and my husband sat up front. Separate beings again. Shrugging, caught my eye. I winked, hoping I'd remember how to mix up a Bahama mama after the boys went to bed.

Lisa Liberty Becker is the Concord- based author of Net Prospect: The Courting Process Women's College Basketball Recruiting. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.