Yesterday, at a toddler playdate, I heard one of the other moms mention something brilliant: a bestseller vacation. Similar to a stay-cation, a bestseller vacation happens at home. Basically, you hand all parental responsibilities over to your child’s father (or mother, or other mother, or other father, etc.) and, with explicit instructions not to be disturbed for anything but the most dire of emergencies, you hole yourself up with a book for an entire weekend.

Before we became parents, Niko and I used to regularly indulge in and recharge ourselves with weekend trips. We recently tried our first weekend away as a family of three (we went to Monterey), and let me just say it was the exact opposite of recharging. In fact, it took me a week to recover. You see, a certain young lady had no interest in napping. Nor was she particularly keen to go down at bedtime. Niko and I found ourselves hiding in our hotel bathroom with our books while the Vachette fell asleep, and then once we were sure she was sleeping, we found ourselves tiptoeing around a dark room. Naturally, when she woke up during the night, it took a very long time to persuade her to go back to sleep. A cavewoman does not listen to reason.

I believe it’s obvious which of the aforementioned weekends sound more appealing. Bring on the bestsellers.