This is a self-portrait of my husband and me on a beach in the British Virgin Islands. I was forty seven years old and I had been married for twenty three years. It was the first vacation I'd ever had as an adult. Over all those years, for one reason or another, I just couldn't go away and leave my children at home, even though my parents were there to look after them. Other people did it all the time. It is a perfectly normal thing for parents to do. I just couldn't do it.

When they were little ones, there was no question of going away. I would miss them too much. Then, in the middle years, between ten and twelve, there were just too many things that had to be done. There were lessons and sports practices and school trips and projects.....things that needed my attention to run smoothly. Then they were teenagers. There was no way that I could leave two teenagers behind. That would just be asking for trouble. So, somehow, I never did.

We finally took our dream trip in November of 1991. Ten days on the beautiful island of Virgin Gorda, BVI. My daughter was a senior in college and my son was a high school senior. I was free to relax and enjoy. They were responsible young adults who could look after themselves and take care of things at home perfectly well. And they did. I had a wonderful time and when I got home, everything was fine, the house was immaculate. Not a thing was out of place.

Even though the dining room furniture had been taken apart and stored in the basement. Even though my dining room had been emptied to make room for a five piece band, with amplifiers. Even though, for three days, hundreds of kids enjoyed the party of all parties at my house. Even though, had I known what was happening 2500 miles away, I would have been horrified, I had a wonderful time.

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