When Whit and I were single, and by single I mean married with no kids, we did our fair share of traveling. My most favorite memories are travel stories. That Wasn’t the Question gives an insight into my attempt to describe a bag to a gate agent. One of the TOP 5 stories that Whit likes to use to explain my painstaking need to get into the minutia of things.

In this story Whit and I were on a flight to visit family. The flight was full and sitting in front of us was a family: Mom, Dad, and a 2 or 3 year old. The minute we took off the kid started in on Mom.  Whining, crying, complaining. You know, what a typical 2-3 year old does on an airplane. It’s par for the course. The passengers around them were patient, but would have appreciated a break in the noise.

At one point in the flight the kid started asking for a cookie. Mom was explaining to Junior that he had already had snacks and didn’t need another snack. “Now Johnny, you have already had a snack. Now Johnny, that isn’t how you ask for something.” At the same time Whit and I looked at each and said, “Just give him the fucking cookie.”

There is a time and a place to teach kids lessons. In a metal tube flying at 36,000 feet with 250 other passengers listening to your kid whine is not the time. From that day on, we have Cookie Days in our home. Without a doubt, anytime we got on a plane was a Cookie Day.  Long car rides were cookie days. For that matter, any day where I had “a day” was Cookie Day. 

It wasn’t just about the cookie, the screen time, or the later bedtime. It was about picking my battles. It was making sure that everyone (including our fellow passengers) had fun on our adventures. If I could relax just a bit and drop my shoulders then everyone else around me could do the same. When we declared, “It’s a Cookie Day!” everyone knew what that meant. It meant the rope got a little bit longer, the line in the sand was negotiable, but don’t push it. Because, just as quickly as the reins were loosened, they could easily be tightened. 

Cookie Days are so important. We are all working so hard to make sure that we are successful, raising decent little people, happily married, etc. Every once in a while we need a break! Grinding out life at the pace our society dictates is just not sustainable. Just like running every day with no recovery days is not sustainable. Your physical body needs a break.  So does your emotional body.

A spin off of Cookie Days are Emergency Beach Days. They have to be declared within the week you want to go to the beach. Meaning, you can’t plan an Emergency Beach Day. Last Saturday when Ellie arrived home for the week I declared March 15 a Beach Day. Last minute I took the day off from work. We spent all afternoon at the beach. Each of us had a book. We had fruit, diet coke, water and snacks. We really didn’t talk much for the 5 hours we were at the beach and we really didn’t move much. What we did was unwind, decompress and recharge. I had my toes in the water, ass in the sand.

Leave a comment if you want to share your version of a Cookie or Beach Day. 

Xoxo Trace