I recently experienced a double-whammy in life when we took our annual family get-away one week, and I had some planned major surgery the next. Which led me to ponder which one was more painful -- the five days of family togetherness, or the cut of the surgeon's knife?

The answer, as I'm sure most of you already knew, is that the family getaway was far more painful, since the surgery came with the benefit of powerful prescribed narcotics, while the family getaway, unfortunately, did not.

Please also note my use of the term "getaway" in lieu of "vacation." The word "vacation" implies a certain freedom from worry and responsibilities; both a place and state of mind, where the emphasis is on rest and relaxation.

As any traveling parents accompanied by minor children can tell you, this level of rejuvenation is impossible when you're attempting to keep track of your family's tickets, passports, cell phones and clean underwear. It's not so much of a reprieve from your normal job as a relocation of its duties to a more picturesque environment.

When you have teens, it gets even worse. You, the parent, are the tour guide on a trip with a bunch of cranky, independent and cynical vacationers, who want to sleep until noon, refuse to bathe regularly, and hold you personally responsible anytime they're not having fun with a capital F.

Our family getaway took place on a cruise. We chose a cruise because, with adult-sized kids in tow, the lure of a trip where unlimited food was included was simply the best economic value to be had in this summer's troubled economy. Not having to pay to gas up the ship was another plus.

The main problem was that on the cruise, as in life, I tend to play the role of Family Cruise Director. Day after day at home, I decide the menu, when we're going to eat, and remind (OK, nag) people when certain tasks need to be accomplished. And while I didn't want to be the Cruise Director of our family cruise, I suppose it was unrealistic to think those duties would evaporate just because of a strong sea breeze and the availability of shuffleboard.

The cries for help went up quickly, and often:

"I can't find my stateroom key!"

"Have you seen my passport?"

"How many desserts do you think I should get?"

It was obvious after the first few hours that I was going to be the designated Person Who Told Everyone What To Do, which gives you a nice sense of control, but unfortunately also means you are going to be The Person Whose Fault It Is When We're Not Having Any Fun.

And yet, despite everyone's insistence that there 1) be a Cruise Director and that 2) it be me, it became obvious early in the trip that our kids are pretty much at their childhood's end, and that more and more they moved independently, not only of us, but also each other.

The boys played Midnight "Capture The Flag" and basketball, our daughter went to the kids craft center, and my husband and I just looked for a quiet place to read a book and sip our coffee. While everyone may have thought they needed a Cruise Director, all we really needed was a good GPS system to keep track of where everyone was.

So after a couple of days, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I jumped ship. No, not really. But I officially resigned my post as Cruise Director over breakfast one morning when one too many people asked me, "So, what are we going to do now?" and no one was happy with the answer.

At that moment, I decided everyone (including my husband) was old enough to keep track of their own stuff and handle their own interpersonal conflicts and I let the passports, the room keys, the mood swings and the chips fall where they may.

I had a sense of freedom afterwards, but also wondered if perhaps the end of the family getaway has truly arrived for this family.

In the next couple of years our boys will be getting summer jobs, each kid will begin spending more and more time with their peers, and any trips made together will probably be more an exercise in moving five independent and strong-willed people through a common experience than making magical memories for "little ones" who, at this stage, are bigger than we are.

So next year, my husband and I are planning on a real vacation (not a getaway), just for two. There will be no need for a Cruise Director, or a GPS system and, unlike this year's cruise, may end up actually being less painful than surgery.

And while I wouldn't trade some of the memories we made on this last big family trip for anything, I can't help wondering how much more pleasant it might have been if only there had been a shipboard anesthesiologist and free morphine on hand.

Diane Sayre is a freelance writer living in Hanford.

(Aug. 4, 2008)