For the first time since becoming parents, we went away without the kids

It has taken us almost a full day to pack — not for our weekend jaunt to Thredbo, but for what we’re leaving behind. We have a meal on a timer in the oven, and the house looks unnaturally tidy by the time the grandparents arrive. We know that won’t last long. A three-year-old and a six-year-old can undo hours of cleaning faster than you can say, “I just vacuumed that”.

Any parent who has been lucky enough to embark on a holiday sans young kids, knows that goodbyes can’t linger. We’ve perfected the art of a quick exit over the years with dinner dates, keeping it light and upbeat. “See you the day after tomorrow!” I say with a smile, masking my anxiety while my husband makes a dash to the car. Once we’re on the move, the weight lifts. The freedom of a few days without unremitting demands is both liberating and strange, like stepping into a version of ourselves we haven’t seen in a while.

Credit: Jamie Brown

But here we are, driving into the sunset... well, not quite. The sun actually set some time ago, and the GPS says we’ll reach Thredbo by 11.45pm. Our first conversation is whether it’s worth stalling to arrive after midnight just to save on a day’s national park pass. Exciting times indeed.

The drive from Sydney to Thredbo takes almost five hours – that’s five solid, uninterrupted hours, a unicorn of parenting life. No tiny voice from the back seat asking for snacks or asking why the sky turns black at night. Just us, alone with our thoughts and good chats.

We arrive at Thredbo just shy of midnight, and after a long, uninterrupted sleep with just the two of us in the bed, we enjoy a leisurely breakfast overlooking the mountains where no one makes a big deal about the Milo cereal flakes not being the tiny ones.

We miss our own kids, but we’re determined to make the most of it.Credit: Getty Images

We are ready to hit the slopes, but Mother Nature has other plans. A streak of warm weather and rain means most of the resort was closed overnight, except for one humble hill – Friday Flat. Not exactly the epic snow adventure we’d imagined, but we’re determined to make the most of it.

The scene on the hill matches our mood perfectly – a laid-back, make-the-best-of-it vibe where having fun is the only rule. Families decked out in neon matching gear zoom by, the kids from the group blowing bubbles that swirl and dance through the air, the shimmering trail catching up with us as we ride the chair lift. We miss our own kids watching these families having a blast, but we’re also savouring the chance to enjoy this moment just for us.

Our contact with the girls over the weekend is minimal but strategic – a few video updates from the grandparents during calm moments, quick calls just after dinner, and a few texts here and there. We trust the grandparents, and while bedtimes might stretch later and the sugar intake might spike, we’re fine with what I call the “grandparents’ rulebook” when I explain it to my older daughter. I think this recognition excites her, giving her a sense of adventure and easing the separation.

And while my husband and I chat about the kids on the chairlift, we also have actual adult talk. We discuss everything from work to dreams, travel plans to our favourite movies.

Of course, all good things come to an end. And after two days getting really good at skiing Friday Flat, we know it’s time to call it quits and head home. There was no epic adventure here, no adrenaline-pumping black runs, but there was laughter, sleep, no schedules, and a chance to soak up each other’s company without interruptions. And a tidy house when we arrived home.