The boys were gone this past week to spend time with their father.
Every year they go for a week at the beginning of the summer and it’s always the same story.
At first I’m excited at all of the possibilities:
- a clean house that stays clean for longer than 30 minutes
- having control of the television and watching trashy reality television or zombie movies
- staying up really late and sleeping in really late
- as many margaritas as I desire on date night
- the quiet; sweet, simple quiet
The first day was unbelievable. My husband and I packed up sunscreen, a couple of beach chairs, and some good books. We drove to a favorite beach and enjoyed the sun, the lake, and each other’s company. That’s what I crave and what I miss the most on a daily basis: simple one-to-one time with him without any other responsibilities or any one else vying for our attention.
However, as the week goes on I become increasingly grumpy. After about day three, I’m ready for my boys to come home. I miss them.
Plus, it’s never as glorious as it seems. As many drinks as I want doesn’t ever really work out because more than two and I usually have a hangover that lasts three days. I’m not sure I got one episode of trashy TV in. I wake up even earlier than I usually do for no apparent reason. I put in a lot of hours at work to make up for missing so much the past couple of weeks due to child care issues. The house didn’t get cleaned.
We took off Thursday evening for a three night camping adventure. I was excited to see what camping would be like without children. I dreamt of lying on the beach with a book, kayaking, hiking, just a lot of quiet time.
Instead we got stuck in the mud. Literally- our RV is still stuck there even though we are now home. Got drenched by Hurricane Arthur. Families were camping all around us and it made me want my kids even more. I was so jealous of the family fun going on all around me. I wanted to take them to the ice cream social, ride the hayride with them, rent a double kayak with them, make s’mores, and watch them delight over the fireworks.
Don’t get me wrong, throughout the weekend there were the moments that were deliciously kid-free. Sipping coffee listening to nothing but birds chirping. Dancing to the band at the pavilion with my husband without keeping one eye on each boy. Kayaking with our friends in the middle of the most peaceful lake. Just relaxing without constantly being on-call.
But I miss those buggers.
I miss the mess. I miss the chaos. I miss the noise. I’ll take the sassy tween attitude back without complaint. I want Brian to wake me up at 5 am. I want discussions on daleks versus Lord Voldemort. I want to watch the same ten seconds of Over the Hedge for twenty minutes.
Being a Mom is what I do. It’s what I was programmed for, it gives me the biggest rewards in life. Nothing else makes me feel so important and loved. Nothing else makes me feel like I’m contributing to the world as much as helping my littles grow into amazing people.
One more hour to go. Time is standing still.
Yet, I wonder how long it will be before I’m craving that quiet moment on the lake, where my husband paddled his kayak next to mine to give me a kiss. Where the water didn’t have a ripple in it and we watched the mama loon give a ride to her babies. Where we didn’t have a schedule or a thing to do on the agenda for the entire day. I’m guessing, not too long.