Now When Will I Find Time To Dust My Mother Of The Year Trophy?

I’ve had this post planned since March.

Today was going to be the day I told you about how badly I would miss my children.

Today I was going to describe in loving detail how I wake up with my three year old in bed with me every morning. I was going to tell you about how I was dreading not feeling those tiny little feet poking me in my ribs and that sleepy but blissful grin that I find myself nose to nose with each day.

Today I was going to talk about how I was going to miss the sound of my son making breakfast in the kitchen for his little sister. I was going to wonder aloud if anyone else was reminding him to brush his teeth and change his underwear.

Today, I am supposed to tell you about singing “You Are My Sunshine” to Emma every night exactly two times so that she can go to sleep, and how that moment just after she’s closed her eyes and just before I get up from her bed is my exactly favorite moment of each day.

I was going to put on a brave face, and tell you that although I was going to be missing them like crazy, I was going to make the most of the next six weeks and focus on all of the things I would be able to do now that Jared and I would have the house – and our whole lives, really – to ourselves. For six weeks.

You would have “ooohed” and “awwwed” and (((hugs)))’ed me and we would have all sat around musing about what a wonderful mother I was for allowing my kids this special time with their grandparents, even though it was clearly breaking my sweet sweet maternal heart to let them go.

That’s what today’s post was supposed to be.

But do we have any of that shit going on here? No. No we don’t.

Instead, a fucking tornado came and wiped out my in-law’s (aka THE KIDS’S GRANDPARENTS WHO WANTED THEM TO STAY WITH THEM FOR THE FIRST HALF OF THE SUMMER) house (aka THE PLACE WHERE MY KIDS WOULD HAVE SPENT THE FIRST HALF OF THE SUMMER STAYING).

And so, instead of getting in the car tomorrow morning to drive to Nashville and meet the grandparents and drop off the kids – I WILL BE SPENDING ALL DAMN WEEKEND HOME ALONE WITH THEM.

And instead of 6 weeks of footloose and fancy free living, complete with not one, not two, but three child free Girls Gone Wild weekends with friends – I will be making a mad dash for sitters for a free night here and there and groceries and summer childcare camps and oh yeah – not living child free AT ALL!

And did I tell you about those pokey little feet? The ones that wake me up in the middle of the night? The ones that mean I am getting up late and running around trying to get not ONE but THREE people ready every morning before we all dash out the door for the daycare/commute/work extravaganza?!?! Did I mention that? Because they are still going to be here every dang morning until FOREVER.

And instead of the occasional happy hour after work or a casual “stop at the store” or just a random WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT BECAUSE THE MOOD STRIKES ME JUST BECAUSE I CAN, I will run out of the office at 5 every day and sprint through traffic to do the daycare/dinner/bed/bath extravaganza. Every. Damn. Night.

Such is life. I know. But I have to admit I have allowed myself to fantasize about what the next six weeks would be like for months now. And I was really starting to come around to the idea of having a little Not In Charge Of The Whole Damned World Time. Just a little.

And I know that we’re lucky everyone is OK and no one wanted this and holy crap how spoiled of a brat can one woman be. I know.

But dude. SIX WEEKS. For the first time since I was 19 years old. SIX WHOLE FREAKING WEEKS.

Le sigh. Ah well. I’m sure I would have missed them too much anyway. I mean – clearly.

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