Tomorrow I will embark on another RV vacation with my kids. This time I’ll be the only adult in attendance and to my recollection (which admittedly isn’t very good) it will be the first overnight adventure I have done on my own with all three of them.

The RV enables my hyper-independence. It provides the emotional security of a home on wheels. If I have to drive an entire house around to maintain my sanity and still show my kids a good time then so be it. They’ll only be young enough to travel this way for a little longer. I am feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility to be all the things; captain, chef, fire starter, travel guide. It’s a lot, but I know I can do it. I’m excited. For one, my expectations are in the right place. I know that on the other side of the next few days, we might be sun burnt and bug bitten, maybe we (meaning me) will even shed a few tears, but we will also have an experience, and if life has taught me anything, it’s that the value of experience is irreplaceable.

I almost didn’t plan it. The thought of taking three kids on a summer vacation alone was so daunting that I considered skipping it all together. Maybe they wouldn’t miss it and I could take an easier route through summer, biding my time until school starts again when academics and extracurriculars fill the long hours of their days and the weight doesn’t fall on my shoulders. But I’m their mom, and I want to have fun with them. And this is fun, right? Driving four hours to a different spot to cook and clean for them between kayaking adventures and ice cream sundaes? I am mentally preparing myself to be physically exhausted. I’m also prepared to play games, and stay up late, and laugh until I cry at something that isn’t funny to anyone who wasn’t there. That’s what vacation is all about.

In the weeks leading up to today, I checked out my rig. It required a few repairs and I paid someone more capable than me to take care of them. I know my limits. I spent the day yesterday packing and organizing supplies. My daughter kept me company on my grocery run. We bought way too many snacks. I didn’t plan for a single vegetable to accompany us on this trip. I’m taking a hiatus from my hope that they will eat them. There is nothing that kills my spirit faster than working too hard to prepare food my kids don’t even consider eating. I’m not doing that to myself on vacation. I packed band aids, aloe, and itch sticks just in case. I’m temporarily lowering my standards for hygiene. I will consider it a success if the youngest gets his teeth brushed at least once each day. That’s the benefit of having multiple kids, by the time the baby comes along you have evidence that all the things you worried about so much with the first two get worked out as they grow. Although, maybe my oldest cares for his teeth so well because I was a relentless nag about it. Hm… Well, I’ll make sure the toothbrush gets packed and hope for the best. Let go and let God, I always say.

Of course, I’m worried about the mechanics, and their diets, and keeping everyone healthy, but what I am most afraid of is that the trip will be lame. I am not the “fun” parent. I never have been. My most exciting hobby is watercolor painting. I’m worried they’ll be more bored with me on a trip out of town then they would be at home in their rooms. Is that silly? Part of what I am paying for is the built-in entertainment that an RV resort provides, but what if I’m not fun enough to keep everyone’s spirits up? I am not athletic or particularly adventurous. I get the sense that everyone takes it easy on me during the more sporty activities. I’m not a strong swimmer, so my anxiety spikes when they are in open water and they know it. I struggle to be imaginative on the spot, so my campfire stories lack that something extra. Even the ones I already know come out garbled. Wait, no, you’re not supposed to know that the killer has a hook hand yet. Forget I said that. Ultimately, I’m worried I won’t be enough for them.

I guess that’s what I’m worried about every day, this is just the vacation variety. I’m constantly worried that after all the work I’ve done to become the best, most self-actualized version of myself, I’m not who I should be for them. What choice do I have? It’s not like I can become someone different. This is where I ended up. Through all my contemplation and life changes, one fact has remained constant: I love my kids. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Isn’t that all that’s really necessary for a parent to provide? I give them reassurance that I will be there for them in whatever way I can regardless of who I am. So tomorrow morning I will climb into the driver’s seat and set sail down I-95 toward family fun. And I can trust that even if they spend the entire time thinking I am the lamest mom in the world, I will still be providing just exactly what they need.