Prepare to be amazed. Or, at very least, pretend to be amazed.
Yep, that’s my luggage for an overnight trip. What’s the big deal? Notice: no diaper bag. I am actually away without my two little people. That means I didn’t pack a single diaper. No blankets, no little packs of snacks, no Barbies, no backup changes of clothes in preparation for a blow out. Oh, and no one to (openly) make fun of my choice of luggage. It’s just me, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, pillow, and sleeping bag.
Cue amazingly long sigh of peace, relief, and a very tiny amount of worry.
Jay has graciously agreed to stay home with Chica and Bubba so that I can attend this year’s Get Away. He says he’s had both of them overnight by himself before, and he’s usually right when it comes to remembering things like that. I just don’t remember this intense, strange feeling of freedom quite like I felt it last night. Either way, I’m here, they’re there, and I’m eating it up.
Speaking of eating…can I just say that meal time without ANY kids is revolutionary? I spend 2/3 of my life’s meals cutting things into tiny pieces, catching projectiles, trying to interpret very confusing baby signs, and begging people to eat. The other 1/3 of my meals are woofed down while trying to keep 45 nine and ten year olds in their seat and to a mild roar.
So last night as I sat at dinner…and sat….and sat….I marveled at the novelty of not having to feed a single person around me. And as I sat some more trying to decide what to have for dessert, there was no banging or throwing involved. Call me crazy, but I think I’ve teared up now twice just writing about it.
Later last night, after worship and a conference, I walked outside to my car to head to our lodge. I was struck, yet again, of the aloneness of it all. I had no one to carry, no one to watch, no one waiting for me. I walked very slowly.
In my real life, I am almost NEVER alone. Yes, I know this is what I signed up for when I got married, made two babies, and became a teacher. But I really consider myself a pretty extreme introvert who has learned to cope in an extroverted world. So this, this being on my own time for almost 24 hours, is a massive, beautiful gift.
Tearing up again. Sheesh.
Most Saturday mornings at 6:15 are reserved for family wrestling matches in our bed. There’s lots of growling, tickling, and, “Don’t get too crazy,” reminders involved. I spend 50% of that time enjoying it, and the other 55% of the time wishing for at least another hour of sleep. (Mistake intended, Mom.) But here I sit, 6:15 on this Saturday morning, typing, thinking, reading.