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By Root 207 0

line, so I was quite familiar with the community. Mike fell in love with its obvious seaside charms, great schools, and wonderful people, and with its proximity to Mike’s office and the city life we loved, it felt like a perfect compromise. Still, sometimes it’s nice to get away from even the nicest suburb. That morning, in my home office on the second floor, I furiously typed e-mails to clients and vendors, letting them know I’d be out of town, but of course, available via BlackBerry, laptop, and cell phone. I am an event planner, so this is business as usual. I fill my weeks planning all manner of weddings, birthday parties, corporate events, product launches, and children’s parties. I’ve had famous clients and clients who live next door. I have an intense passion for what I do; unfortunately, that means that tearing me away from a computer is a losing battle for anyone who tries to do so. Getting caught up in work, I tend to run a good half hour late to everything, and my own family vacation was no exception.

When I finally emerge from a steamy shower and jump into cargo pants and a tank top, I plunk a straw cowboy hat on my wet head as a final nod to the idea of vacation. Ava giggles uncontrollably at the unfamiliar sight of her vacation-mode mom. I double-check her diaper bag for the requisite supplies for the road, but then am drawn again to the monitor, just to check if the tiny e-mail envelope is blinking.

“Liz!” my husband yells up the stairs. “Seriously, are you ever going to be getting into the car?!” Mike is a man who is right on time, all the time. A dead ringer for the golfer Phil Mickelson, he is tightly wound and probably more in need of a break than anyone else I know. The Hamptons wouldn’t have been his first choice—it’s known as a playground of the East Coast elite, and Mike, a southerner, regards it with some reverse snobbery. Although he insists East Hampton is elitist, I suspect he loves the beaches in spite of himself. Still, he’s taking this vacation to indulge me, and I love him for it.

“Just one more e-mail and I’m ready. Promise!” I trill in my sweetest spouse-appeasing voice down the golf-green carpeted stairs. Tappety-tap, I e-mail a client who is getting married in October about some last-minute decisions on lighting and menu that I want her to make in the next forty-eight hours. Ava is ready to go, towheaded and sweet, wearing a pink-and-white-checked dress and tiny white sandals, her silky hair in a ponytail. She is playing in my office and prattling on about the beach, my hat, and the movie for the car ride. I imagine that she is wondering about this mysterious concept of “vacation,” since we have not taken one since she was fourteen weeks old. I turn to her, lift her off the ground, and spin her around, covering her tiny baby arms with kisses before setting her back down on my office floor. Flip-flops go on my feet and it is time to go.

Send. Save. Log off. Shut down. I scoop Ava up under my arm, jostle her onto my hip, and descend the stairs with a giant portfolio of color and fabric swatches and storyboards slung over the other shoulder. Mike gives me a wry look.

“Vacation, huh?” He stares at all the work I am schlepping, shakes his head, and gently guides me toward the front door before I can backtrack and double-check the stove, coffee maker, voice mails. “Let’s go, honey. Seriously, come on.” But as we fire up the car and queue up Finding Nemo for Ava, my obsessive-compulsive self takes over, yet again. We’re pulling down the circular driveway when I blurt it out.

“Wait! I’ll bet the mailman’s been here. Get the mail, get the mail!”

“Oh, Jesus, Liz, why? It’ll just be a bunch of Restoration Hardware catalogs and bills. Can’t it wait?”

“No! You never know what’s there. Please, honey? Then we can go.”

Mike sighs, puts the car in park, and ambles over to the mailbox in his khakis and polo shirt. Ava and I start singing a song, while she kicks the back of my seat and tries to grab the back of my cowboy hat. I peer out and see Mike rifling through the mail, which does indeed look