This past weekend my husband took the girls camping, leaving me by myself.
Saturday stretched out before me like a blank slate. The tidbits of time that I long for. Nay, that I ache for. The welcome respite from the relentless treadmill of 24/7 mom duty.
The timeline of the day isn't pre-planned or dictated by two pre-schoolers demanding my time, attention and patience.
Some might say 'just like before children'. No. Not at all the same. The spirits of two spunky four year olds resound in my mind. Their residual energy floats around each room, reminding me of their absence, and anticipated return. I step over their toys and clothes, like moments in time, discarded at each whim.
In the morning, upon first light, I instinctively listened for their chirping twin babble. I imagined noises of them playing in the hallway outside my bedroom, or bathing their dolls in their bathroom sink, only to wake and realize the house was gloriously silent.
As I lounge on the couch, I relish in the quiet - but it's not the same as when the girls are sleeping, or engaged quietly in an activity, because of the absence of the constant threat of interruption. I never know when I might be commandeered against my will to referee a fight, kiss a boo-boo or find a lost teddy bear. I'm always "on-call" in a sense.
But as any mom will admit, it didn't take long to feel that longing... their Elmo-esque voices, their wide-eyed wonder, their sweet innocence, and their utter pleasure in the simple things in life.
And, as good as it felt to be alone for two days, it felt far better to hug them when they returned home.
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