So two weeks ago, I dropped Mark and Oliver and Callum off at the airport, and bid them adieu until this Sunday. They were headed to England to stay with Mark’s families. (I say ‘families’ because his parents are divorced and remarried)
I haven’t mentioned my two weeks alone, because part of the trip was meant to be a surprise. Mark’s dad was turning 70 this week and he wanted to give him a heart attackplanned to surprise him for his birthday. And I have no idea, due to my seriously limited wordpress-supplied statistics, whether or not Mark’s dad reads this blog. It’s very possible that he has found it. He is an avid computer and internet user. But they are with his dad now, so the secret’s out.
Anyway, so…freedom, baby, yeah. Despite my best efforts to talk Mark out of travelling overseas with both children (mainly due to the idea that navigating airports and airplanes with a toddler and a preschooler by oneself is one of the circles of hell, and I assumed he’d end up losing or killing one of them), he insisted. He insisted he’d be fine. Me, I’d be a bloody stress case. But he got them there fine, and everyone is okay. You know, out of routine, but enjoying time with their grandparents and other relatives, and whatever. Oliver, despite telling me when he left he was going to stay there, has since told me he is coming home soon. I am still worried about the flight back, but as Mark would say, it’s only 7 hours even if they are both screaming the entire time. Seven hours in a life time is not much.
So I’ve basically taken the opportunity of alone time to just get stuff done. We never seem to be able to stay on top of anything around the house. We manage to get laundry done, to run the dishwasher. To keep bodies clean and fed. But in reality, not much more than that. So every night after work, I’ve just been on various missions to do stuff around the house that is always on my to-do list and never checked off. That is rather satisfying. There’s still so much more I want to do, though, and only a couple more days to do it.
I’ve also been cooking more slowly than normal (rather than the 10-minute-frantic-throw-it-in-the-pan-because-the-kids-are-screaming-hungry type of dinner we are prone to), having a leisurely glass of wine with my dinner (or even a daiquiri), playing with the dog, reading, and sleeping so damn well.
The downside to this break from routine is that I’ve had to pick up some jobs that are on the husband side of the division of labour in our house. Walking the dog every morning at 6:30am is not my favourite thing to do, particularly in a snow storm or when it’s -15°C. I kind of hate using the snowblower. It’s like a crazy powerful machine. I mean, it’s amazing compared to using a shovel, particularly with our exceptionally large driveway, but I am afraid of the big machine.
And people keep saying to me “oh, you must miss them so much”. Erm, no. I have actually compartmentalized them. I’ve put them away for 2 weeks. I’ve shut their doors (except when doing stuff in their rooms). I’ve put their toys away. I’ve honestly just enjoyed my alone time too much. I mean, I’ve seen friends, I had a weekend away in the US with my parents – but the best thing of all has been to spend some quality time with myself and my house.
Perhaps he should make this a yearly trip so I can recharge my batteries annually.