A Happy Accident
How a road trip became the reminder I didn’t know I needed
I put up a question box on my stories the other day an ask me anything type one. I thought I’d compile it into a Substack piece, but someone asked about my trip away with my older two alone, and I felt like I really wanted to write about that, and only that. So here is some word vomit that may or may not be worth the read for you today.
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My daughter announces that our cat prefers to spend more time outside than in these days.
“I think he just needs his space from everyone,” I say. Then I mutter to my husband, “and I don’t blame him.”
My daughter shoots me a look. “You’re not meant to say that about your family.”
She’s almost seven now — so knowing, and when did that happen, anyway?
Adding a third child has turned my ceiling into the floor and vice versa. Life’s just so busy. I love it, and I wish it would slow down.
“Sorry, I don’t mean it. It’s a joke,” I tell her with a laugh and a hug — though actually, I wasn’t joking. Space is something I need.
I remind her that I love spending time with her, but that sometimes I also need to be with just myself. I think she understands. She often tells me she wants to play on her own and not with her little sister. The battle usually starts there, because that’s often how I get time on my own, too.
We’re two days out from our holiday in Wanaka — a five-hour road trip south to stay at my Nana’s timeshare apartment, a place I haven’t been since I was a child.
I was looking forward to slowing down for a week (as much as you can, as a parent).
You know the saying: take your kids on holiday so they can be ungrateful in a different location.
Still, I was prepared. I needed the break and was looking forward to it. I had just finished packing everyone’s suitcases when I got the call from my husband.
“I’m sorry, but my leave was never approved, and I can’t get the time off”.
TWO DAYS OUT.
We’d planned this for months, I moved a book launch around it even, I was upset, he was upset. But after some thought (and after fuming). I realised that while it wouldn’t be a ‘break’ for me, I would still go. Only, I couldn’t manage the kind of holiday we’d planned with a just-turned-three-year-old in tow, and there being only me with three kids. So, I arranged for Mum to help Drew with Heidi while he worked, and I’d take the older two.
I cried as I unpacked Heidi’s things, telling myself she wouldn’t remember. The mum guilt never ends no matter what you do.
We set off bright and early — 8:30am, which we can’t even manage on a school day.
Car packed to the brim: me, the two kids, and my guilt.
I hugged Heidi goodbye. She kept asking where we were going, and could she come too? I thought about it — really thought about it, but then pictured unpacking the car, Luge rides, Puzzling World, swimming, the nights…
I won’t lie, even going alone with two kids is huge for me. I’ve never done anything like this before, and my anxiety about driving those roads was at an all-time high. (I was in a terrible car accident in my early twenties, driven off a cliff — so I white-knuckle it around most hills.) I decided that maybe this would be the only time I could do this with the older two (and the only evidence for her at this age would be the photos she saw later).
I still wasn’t in the best mood with Drew, I won’t lie it was disappointment, but I wanted to be positive. The kids had been looking forward to this, and so had I.
The road trip was long, but we took turns choosing songs and playing “I Spy.”
I pointed out the scenery — even explained what scenery meant. No one was that interested, to be fair. But it was one of the first times I felt drawn to it all.
I kept telling the kids how lucky we are to live here, and I really meant it.
Something about travelling alone and planning everything myself felt different. And at the same time, not so different, because I am the planner.
I realised that even if this wouldn’t be the “break” I was hoping for, it would still be a chance to connect with my older two without tending to my youngest first. As much of a beautiful whirlwind as she is — I needed this, and I didn’t even realise it.
I unpacked the car, discovering muscles I didn’t know I had, hauling everything up the stairs.
The kids helped (sort of). I expected homesickness from the kids on the first night, but strangely, it never came. Maybe they noticed the shift in me too. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes I find the kids behave so much better when it’s just one of us?
We had ice cream before dinner. Baths at 8:30pm — an hour past bedtime. And it was lovely. No schedules, nowhere to be. I accidentally wiped chili in my eye at a restaurant and sat there with sunglasses on, I took the kids to a distillery because I wanted to go (had coffee only, but still it was nice to do it).
It wasn’t that I didn’t miss my husband or my youngest — I did — but I’d missed these conversations, these moments of them growing up in the turbulence of life.
Here I was, in a new season of parenthood I hadn’t really experienced yet.
I was doing things with them, not just for them.
I jumped on the swing beside them instead of pushing.
I sat by the pool and watched instead of getting in.
I watched my son complete a puzzle at Puzzling World that would’ve taken me twice as long.
And for once, everything was uninterrupted.
I saw a baby in the pool that day — pressed against her mum, shrieking with delight while my two were doing bombs, also shrieking with delight. Each season is so precious. Normally, I’d feel wistful in moments like that. But this time, I felt calm. Present. Like I was seeing the change in landscape happening, not just when we arrived.
I had time to notice. I could actually see the bloom.
We FaceTimed with Drew and Heidi every day — sometimes more. They were fine, of course they were.
I think, if I’m honest, we all needed this. It wasn’t something we’d ever have planned, but it turned out to be a happy accident. I was able to give over control of everything to Drew with our youngest and I was able to tackle a lot on my own.
I needed this time with the older two, just like I often need one-on-one time with Heidi. And I needed evenings alone, to potter, to move at my own pace, to think about nothing, to miss my husband maybe?
We drove to Queenstown to take the Gondola and try the Luge.
The whole time I kept thinking, How am I going to do this alone with two kids who’ve never done this before?
I’m not your chilled parent. I think of every worst-case scenario. This was definitely a two-person job.
But there I was: Holly with me, Harry learning to go solo.
There’s a real skill mothers don’t get enough credit for — the ability to look calm and confident while wanting to throw up.
My heart was in my throat as he took off, me behind him.
“Go wide!” I yelled as he crashed on the first corner.
I scrambled out, trying to reach him with Holly still tucked in front of me before another cart came flying down.
He was shaken, but I saw something else in him too — determination.
He tried again. Crashed again. And again. But on the final run, he got it.
There I was, dreaming of the glass of red wine I’d earned that night when he turned to me and said,
“Can I try that again?”
And so we did. And he nailed it.
On the last morning, the kids “helped” me pack.
I loaded the car, cleaned up, and thought about all the things I’d done alone, things I might’ve leaned on Drew for before: directions, heavy lifting, emotional backup.
I missed him, of course. But it felt good knowing I could do it. That in the quiet of the evenings I didn’t mind my own company, in fact I quite liked it.
Honestly, I’d been more present this trip than I had in years.
Two hours into the drive home — and a few car sickness tablets later, I was thinking about how good it would feel to be back. Then Harry piped up from the back seat:
“Look at the scenery, Holly. It’s so beautiful.”
“That’s Lake Tekapo,” I told them.
“I’ve never seen water so blue.”
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Thank you for sharing. Loved reading this. Oh so many relatable moments. ❤️
Beautiful 💕