SEVEN NIGHTS

As we drove the fuschia pink Nissan Cube up the freeway, I thought, “I can’t go through with this.”

We passsed miles and miles of nothingness, getting even farther and farther from our destination. I was more convinced than ever that we had made a mistake. There was no way I could possibly survive seven nights of this.

If you are a parent who has ever gone on vacation – sans kids – you know what I’m talking about.

Friday Night:

— Grandparents pick up kids. Ruminate about decision for hours. Try to fall asleep. Not successful.

Saturday Morning:

— 5 am: Barely slept. Miss kids. A lot. Wander around house aimlessly. Husband puts me in car.

— 7 am: Airport busy. Spring break. Planes down. Airport clerk informs hundreds of passengers they are stuck for 4 days. Re-book new flight. Rent a car. Not a cute car. Drive 3.5 hours to Seattle to catch red eye flight.

— 9 pm: Really miss kids.

— Midnight: Catch flight. Wonder if I’m a good mom.

Sunday:

— Midday: Have not slept. Miss kids. Call grandparents repeatedly. Listen to sound of Sienna breathing. Laugh at Brae’s sweet voice.

— Late midday: Arrive in Cabo. See good friends. Good weather. Amazing resort. Awesome company.

— Midnight: Toss and turn. Miss kids. Dream of kids.

Seven nights of “rinse and repeat” the above schedule.

Kids probably not scarred. Mama may be.

So this is what it means to be a mother: To agree that I will forever allow my heart to live outside my body.

Really, really hard to function when my heart is hundreds of miles away.

Not sure I’ll be doing this again anytime soon.

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