Six backpacks lay strewn in the front entrance of our home, dilapidated and bulging with remnants of school supplies and overstuffed homework binders held together with duct tape. Make-shift art portfolios constructed of white poster board stapled on three sides, containing a year’s worth of each child’s creative handiwork rested against the walls. Plastic grocery bags stuffed with school uniforms discarded for bathing suits to wear to last-day-of-school swim parties were scattered in a minefield. Nylon lunchboxes, zippers broken and seams torn, leaned against each other on the kitchen counter like soldiers who had made it through a fierce battle.

This was the scene in our house for many years on the last day of school. With six children eight years apart (twins included), I think I was more excited to say adieu to another academic year than they were.

Summer meant no packing lunches, no badgering about homework, and not having to yell, “Let’s go! Get in the van NOW! We’re already late!” No more rushing to this practice and that game, or planning this class event, or volunteering at that school function. It was a time to relish being with my family.

Mike and I were raised with workaholic fathers. They were great providers but had the mindset, “You work hard now so you have the money to travel and enjoy life when you retire.” Unfortunately, none of our parents got to travel and enjoy the retirement they had imagined because a spouse on both sides passed away at the age of sixty-three.

We decided we weren’t going to follow in their footsteps and took a more balanced approach to life: work hard fifty weeks of the year and spend two weeks having fun with our family. Not only was it important to have time away to nurture the relationships in our household, it was crucial to maintaining optimal health—both ours and the children’s. A body can’t run nonstop and be expected to function at top performance. It must pause now and then to get its tank refueled.

Shortly after Christmas decorations were put away each year, Mike started asking at dinner, “Where should we go for summer vacation?” He’d list scenarios: “Do you want to go to a place with a big lake for boating and fishing? Or to the mountains where there’s horseback riding and a huge swimming pool? Or to a place where you can ride your bikes on the beach? How about whitewater rafting? Or do you want to go to a preserve near sightseeing destinations so we can take day trips to places like the redwood forest, Yosemite, Clear Lake, Tahoe, Monterey, Sacramento, or San Francisco?” His eyes would light up at the possibilities for adventure. And the chatter would begin.

Early in our dating years, he introduced this former city girl to the beauty of camping. It was a big adjustment for a prima donna who never went anywhere she couldn’t plug in her hair dryer. But Mike was patient with me. Eventually, the benefits of being in nature and an appreciation for the splendor of the outdoors overcame my disdain of dirt, ants, and mosquitoes; my only stipulations were that I sleep on an air mattress and have a real commode at my disposal. (I never progressed to digging a hole in the ground.)

Spontaneous camping weekends soon became something I looked forward to taking. Mike designated a corner of the garage to Rubbermaid containers packed with camping gear so we could take off on an adventure at a moment’s notice. All I needed was a day to plan, purchase, and pack the food.

Mark’s first experience sleeping in the outdoors was at six months old; the other children were indoctrinated at an early age as well. I even roughed it while seven months pregnant with twins. Our tent grew from a three-person model into what the kids referred to as the Taj Mahal, which slept twelve (eight, really, with all our gear). As the boys got into scouting and asked for a tent of their own, we transitioned to two smaller ones. Needless to say, our inventory of tents became expansive.

Thirteen years ago, we became members of Thousand Trails, a nationwide membership-based network of private campgrounds whose properties feature cabins for those who enjoy the outdoors but don’t want to give up all their creature comforts.

These cabins are located on scenic natural preserves that offer activities and amenities geared toward families. Each is equipped with a full-size kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, loft, and living area. All the linens, cookware, dishes, utensils and many conveniences of home are provided as well.

I was in heaven! I had all the grandeur of nature, and, when I had had enough, I could take a hot shower, relax in an air-conditioned cabin, and sleep in a real bed (and so could cranky, exhausted little ones)!

Because there were only a handful of cabins available on each property, we had to make reservations six months in advance. Sometimes we chose to stay two weeks at one preserve; other times we spent one week at one and the second week at another. Our dates usually fell around the end of June and first week of July. This meant Mike had half a year to delight in planning our adventures. And he did just that! He enjoyed the planning almost as much as partaking in the activities themselves.

Given our chaotic household, anticipating time to enjoy some peace and quiet is what kept me going through the busy spring and frenzied last months of the school year. Our cabins had decks on which to relax, and the preserves had beautiful pools or were located near water sources for swimming. Downtime to utilize them was my carrot.

My husband on the other hand looked at our time away as an opportunity to fit in as much fun stuff as possible. When we first began these vacations, he used to plan events for each day. Although this worked for him and the kids (he wasn’t around them day in and day out all year), it didn’t for me. Ultimately he came to realize these plans needed my assistance, which meant there was little time for me to refill my tank. This mom of many required at least a few days where I had nothing planned but to curl up with a good book.

Mike had the task of packing the van and making sure the bike trailer was in good working order. My job was to plan, shop, and pack food for roughly two hundred and forty meals—ten days of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for eight people. On four days (two driving days and two others) we ate out; other than that, it was up to me. It only took a few vacations to realize a menu template and a grocery checklist would be helpful in making this yearly operation a little less daunting.

My other task was summer-clothes shopping for everyone. I put this off until the last minute because, having been born without the shopping gene most women get, I enjoyed this undertaking about as much as being eaten alive by a scourge of mosquitoes. Hand-me-downs saved the day a few times, but for the most part, every year everyone had outgrown their previous summer things and needed new bathing suits, shorts, tops, and sandals.

With so many children, it was critical that our family run like a well-oiled machine. The kids were taught at a young age we are a team. If everyone did his part, we’d have a lot of fun and things would run smoothly. They also learned it takes only one weak link to ruin it for everyone.

In addition to the cooking checklist, I created a basic packing checklist. The children were responsible for packing their own clothes and personal items; in fact, Mary and Chris were given a list before they could read. The older siblings would help the younger ones by telling them what to put in their duffel bags, then the older one would check it off the younger one’s list. In the early years, I would do a final check of everyone’s packed items the night before to make sure no one forgot anything important.

One item on the checklist was an outfit to wear for Mass. Part of Mike’s planning was to make sure there was a Catholic church nearby so we didn’t miss Sunday Mass. We never took for granted the opportunity to get away two weeks out of the year and wanted to give thanks to God. Many people don’t go to church on their vacations, perhaps thinking their downtime should include a vacation from that obligation because it’s inconvenient to whatever fun they are enjoying.

We didn’t look at church that way. We planned our vacation around Sundays because we knew if it weren’t for putting Christ at the center of our lives, we wouldn’t have any of the good things we do. Attending Mass wasn’t an obligation, it came from a desire to include Jesus in our joyful time together. It also meant we were able to visit some beautiful churches, including sixteen of the twenty-one California missions.

As I write this piece towards the end of June, a bit of melancholy sets in. Gone are the vacations when we packed into our fifteen-passenger van like sardines, camping gear, duffel bags, and food bins squeezed in around us, towing a trailer filled with eight bikes. In years past, I would be shopping right about now and beginning to fill Rubbermaid bins. But most of the children are grown; three are out of the house, and, of the three who are home, only the youngest isn’t working and has the summer free.

What’s left is a treasury of memories: two-day road trips to Oregon with Adventures in Odyssey and books on cassette (Elizabeth Enright was a favorite with her Gone-Away Lake, The Saturdays, and all the other books about the Melendy family); young ones piling into hotel rooms–three girls to a bed, two boys to a bed and one on the sofa; and Mike and me in an adjoining room, smiling at the silly jokes and squeals of laughter shared between siblings, which were heard from the other side of the closed door.

Fortunately, we have photos to remind us of the numerous outings: boating on Bass Lake, Lake of the Springs, and Lake Oroville; sliding down spiral slides; super-soaker and bumper-boat battles; whitewater rafting trips on the Deschutes River in Bend, Oregon, and on the American River; and swimming in all kinds of pools.

I will no longer be swarmed by a band of sweaty, hungry, out-of-breath adventurers rushing into the cabin after a morning of exploring the preserve, clamoring, “What’s for lunch?” I would already have made their sandwiches, put out the chips, and placed a big bowl of cold watermelon chunks on the kitchen table. Nor will all of us again crowd into a tiny family room—four on the small sofa, the rest on the floor—watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island and The Flintstones; no more teams A and B for meals (team A would set up and B would clean), nor nightly ice-cream sundae parties, nor Fourth of July celebrations that included decorating bikes and riding in parades.

The vacations we took weren’t elaborate; we didn’t go to exotic places or visit grand amusement parks. But what we experienced far surpassed anything money could buy. Our children had some of the best times of their lives, laughing, learning, loving, and being loved. They will forever have volumes of memories to share with one another and their children at family reunions and gatherings.

In world where there’s much focus on obtaining money and material things, I pray the example we set continues through future generations—that our children see the immense value in nurturing family relationships and keeping a balance between living a happy life and working hard, and that the material things they did without while growing up were a small price to pay for the wealth of love and experience they received.

It’s not about what we spend, where we go, how long we’re gone, or how we get there. It’s that we do it before it’s too late. I am blessed Mike and I won’t have to say, “I regret not being able to do/go (fill in the blank) while we were healthy and able to enjoy it.” Those summers involved hard work to execute, and we may not have stayed in the most luxurious accommodations, but we cherish every one of them and would do it all over again exactly the same way. I’m pretty sure our children would, too.

Our thanks always goes to God for helping us understand the importance of family and for the opportunities we’ve had to get away and refuel our tanks so we could become a closer one.