When the Cats are Away

Let me start by saying that I love my family. I love (and chose) to have three children and, more times than not, they make me very happy. But I am human. And as much as I love the sometimes joyful and sometimes torturous noises of having a family, once in a while there is nothing better than the sound of extended peace and quiet. This morning, my wonderful and marvelous husband, left with our youngest two children for an overnight visit with his family in Buffalo (hear me letting out a sigh of joy and happiness).

I have been anticipating this two day oasis for weeks; as has my eight year old son who is like me in more ways than he’s capable of seeing at his young age.  We have been secretly planning our time together every night at bedtime.  It sometimes has been hard for us to hide our excitement from the others. A couple of times Eric was wavering on whether or not he would just stay home.  My son quickly learned the art of subtle persuasion reminding his dad how important it was to visit his family.  Well played, son.

This morning, the girl’s bags were packed and waiting at the door by 9am.  Waves of guilt would sporadically wash over me but I had to stay focussed on getting them out the door.  As they drove away, I felt a little sad but then shook myself out of it.  It was time to celebrate. I have two days at home with a mostly well-adjusted eight year old who loves his down time at much as his mother. It doesn’t get any better than this.

We jumped into action by heading to our favourite place to go for breakfast together. We’ve been going there, many times just the two of us, since he was a baby.  They know both of our orders without asking (which, by the way, are identical) and while we wait we play a competitive game of squares.  The next stop is at the bowling alley where he proceeds to legitimately beat me (well, he used the bumpers a lot more than I did) two games to none.  We ended our morning together at the bookstore and then he was off to a friend’s house for the afternoon.  I know. This is crazy good.

I head home to build myself a cocoon of warmth and bliss.  I first stop at the movie store to find the perfect movie for a woman alone on a snowy afternoon. I select a movie that any woman without her husband and children around might also choose; a movie about a senior citizen who reveals that he is gay and lives out his life exploring his newfound sexuality.  See what I mean?

Back to my cocoon, Eric didn’t have time to chop wood for a fire for me so I decide to do it myself.  I am clearly desperate for the atmosphere a fire is going to create because this would be the first time in my life I would be swinging an axe around.  I almost learned the hard way what proper foot positioning is for times when one misses the target.  Anyway, I got enough small pieces to make a go of a fire and got is started with surprising ease.

The point of all of this is that…I love being alone?  No wait. It’s more than that.  It’s that I do love my family and I love being a mom and wife but I also love being Lori.  The Lori, who when stripped of so many of the things that seem to define me on a daily basis, is the same old girl she has always been.  I don’t feel bad, like so many mothers do, about wanting, needing and loving time to myself.  Time alone or time with my friends, refuels me.  It gives me perspective and it makes me happy.  Why should any of us feel guilty about that?  And it’s not only about people with kids. We all need to step back and shut out the rest of the world sometimes and just feel good about being alone.

Tonight, like two college buddies, my son and I will pick up dinner at McDonalds and mindlessly eat it while we watch hockey. I will go to bed knowing I’ll be sleeping through the night and then we’ll wake up and quite possibly go out for breakfast again.  By the time everyone arrives home tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be recharged and well-rested and ready for the craziness of having a family to consume me once again.