The Gift of (Alone) Time

This is my last evening without kids. And now, without husband (snafu with contractor/ ripped out bathroom), so I am trying to absorb the alone. Absorb the silence. Absorb the absolute freedom. This is silly, of course. It can’t be absorbed and saved for later, though it would be so great if it could. In the middle of a tantrum, either mine or the kids, whip into my messy handbag, rifle through the old receipts and pamphlets from the last museum visit to find the container, hidden in the far depths of the bag, further than I knew it to go. Then to open the container..drink it in. Slather it on. And then this incredible calm could sweep over and through me and give me the clarity I need in that moment to ride it through the storm with a little less debris left behind. Maybe one less apology to make.

This ridiculous amount of alone-time (5 days totally alone + 7 days with hubbie road tripping out here to Park City and settling in), was a gift out of nowhere. While I was a part of the plan-making…grandparents wanted to have the kids for 2 weeks, Mark flying them over, him deciding to stay…I never even really asked or DREAMED that I could ask for so much. It’s been heavenly. It helps that I know that my children are having so much fun that they have refused my daily phone calls. I hate to gloat, knowing us mothers rarely/ever see this much freedom, but I’m not really gloating, just sharing. Example: it was day 3 when I was home alone. I woke up and I felt…get this…a little lonely. It was superb. When was the last time you actually felt a lonely? When did the silence feel like a bit too much? That day, I went about my day and it was never sad. It was just a forgotten sensation, remembered. Appreciated.

The connections with the hubbie have been wonderful. Talking in the car. Not talking in the car. Holding hands. Laughing. Remembering. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing. Hiking. Snuggling. Sleeping  in. And tomorrow the two wee ones that were produced out of the love we have for each other will be welcomed back in, where the connection is stronger to hold them in. A big, long deep breath has been taken in. A long languid exhale has been released. And my heart and arms are open.

Despite my romantic rhapsodies, I know that our transition may not be all as smooth and easy as it sounds. The children will re-adjust to the ways of Mom and Dad instead of Oma and Opa. Mom and Dad will re-adjust to the sounds, the early mornings, the negotiations over food, TV and ‘what we’ll do next’.  I will adjust to being needed. A lot. Quickly it will seem like this period of calm was a long time ago. But I like to think that somewhere, perhaps not in my handbag, but maybe in my heart, I’ll keep a little pool of this place…the silence. The time of reflection. And I’ll remember that every moment of life is a choice. And I’ll take a quick dip in that calm, take a deep breath, and I will happily dive back in to where I’m needed. A lot. 

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