My Weekend (Almost) Alone

This weekend, my husband took John (4-1/2) and Mary (2-1/2) to Atlanta while the baby and I stayed home. Of my children, I'd been apart from only John, and only on two occasions, and each for only one night with his daddy. We wouldn't have done this except that this was our family's very special annual "grandparents' weekend" in which all the grandchildren are in Atlanta at the same time, and all the cousins get to see each other. But our baby still screams bloody murder in the car and, after our experience just a few weeks prior in which she cried four hours each way, we just couldn't do that to the baby, nor to the driver (Chris) again!

I got the kids packed up, and noted how easy it was to pack two children only instead of packing myself, two children, and one baby (Chris packs his own suitcase). I put specific outfits (one for Mass, one for the family photo shoot) into individual gallon plastic bags so Chris would get all the items together. I wrote many notes about child care and the kids' routines. And then I prayed to their Guardian Angels!

I was quite gripped with fear about losing most of my family. I don't have fear when I drive around with the kids because if we are in a fiery crash, I'll die with them. But if my husband and kids are out and about without me . . . well, I can hardly type the words! Obviously, this kind of overwhelming fear is not very Christian of me: "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear: but of power, and of love, and of sobriety." (2 Timothy 1:7). Perhaps it is time to begin my nearly perpetual reading of "Trustful Surrender to Divine Providence"!

When the family first drove off, the baby happened to be napping, so I was really all alone. I felt utterly unmoored, like a ship floating lost at sea. I wandered around the house, room to room, staring. I'd sit in a chair, get up, move somewhere else, sit down. I'd stare. I'd wonder what to do. I always have a list a mile long of both short-term tasks to do and long-term projects that are goals, but I was too emotionally empty that evening to do anything productive or even enjoy myself.

Thankfully, by the next morning, I felt a bit more alive. I enjoyed eating breakfast. Note in the photo above, the sad wide open space at the table, it not being crowded with little ones. I ate my blueberries in peace, without a two-year-old snatching as many as she could to stuff in her little cheeks. I took my vitamins without the daily conversation of the two-year-old asking me what they are, clarifying that they are grown-up vitamins, not children's vitamins, and--just like every day--no, she may not have any. I was able to read the newspaper because my four-year-old was not sharing his stream of consciousness with me. And why did I put a rubber band on my water glass that morning, as I normally do to indicate that this water glass (that I leave out on the counter all day) is mine. There was nobody else in the house to drink my water. Breakfast was peaceful, but lonely.

On Saturday I attended an all-day local Catholic homeschooling conference. The day was an absolute delight! I felt educated, inspired, and revived in this aspect of my vocation. I met some really neat ladies and the speakers were excellent. I pointed out to my husband oh-so helpfully that, due to the great discounts at the book sale, I "saved" him a lot of money with my purchases.

Margaret did fairly well at the event. At four months old, she is not very portable and, while my first two babies would have simply snuggled into my sling and slept away the hours, Margaret slept only two 45-minute stretches all day. (It's as if I can hear her pleading with me, "Please! Just set me on my tummy in the dark with my pink blankie so I can go to sleep!") By the afternoon, she was stretched far beyond her limit, so I missed a good portion of the final two talks because I was outside pacing a fussy baby. I left without attending the Rosary, Confessions, and Mass at the end because I would have been merely continuing to pace outside with a fussy baby. After the 30 minutes of a screaming ride home, Margaret was tucked into bed at five o'clock and (except for wakings to nurse) she slept till seven the next morning! Fourteen hours is a lot longer than her more typical ten.

A gigantic, live cockroach awaited my husband's return under this plastic Easter egg. I don't deal with these things, if I don't have to. (For my friends on the West Coast who may not know this: the humid South teems with these vile insects, so here they are, to some degree, inevitable cohabitants in homes, unlike in the dry West where they are more often an indication of a problem.)

Due to the invigorating conference, I--once again--reorganized my school supplies. Cookbooks have gone back onto a shelf in the pantry. The homeschooling closet now contains supplies but not books. I had noticed too often the kids pulling out the school workbooks, which they're not able to do independently. A few times my two-year-old actually got out pens and did some "work" in them, which ruins that page since she is just scribbling on it. So, school books are now up on my kitchen shelves, both so the children won't pull them down independently and so that I will have better access to them. How I do love organizing. (I am not kidding you when I say that since childhood I have thought that I would enjoy as a retirement job stocking shelves at a grocery store.)

Getting prepared for Mass on Sunday morning was refreshingly easy. I slept in till 6:45, then moved rather slowly, but still was able to get dressed and do my makeup and hair in eight minutes, leaving at 7:30 to get to Mass on time. Trust me when I say that I get up much earlier and work much harder on normal Sundays to feed and get ready three children plus myself! I felt so relaxed driving to Mass in contrast to normally feeling like I've just run a race.

Do I know my Mary well or what? In my reviewing with Chris tips on taking care of both kids all by himself all weekend, I asked him always to double lock the hotel room door. I noted that even the latch wouldn't be foolproof at keeping Mary inside because she would soon enough just push over a chair to the locked door and unlock it (which led to another tip that he should shower while the children were asleep so he wasn't leaving them unsupervised while awake--aack!). Indeed, on Sunday morning Chris woke up to the sound of the door rattling over and over again. Mary had woken silently, slipped out of bed, and stealthily padded her way to the hotel room door, where she was trying repeatedly to open it, which would have let her loose into the outside world (since this was a residential hotel with doors opening to the outside, not to an interior lobby). Thank God (and thank husband!) that Chris had latched the chain and heard Mary before she figured out how to open the chain (which, knowing her, would have taken about one more minute of alone time). Next time I'll add the tip: "And shove a heavy hotel chair up against the bedroom door so that you'll hear the toddler trying to pull it aside and you'll wake up!"

The family arrived home safe Sunday night and, after tumbling and shrieking and hugging, I did their bedtime routine with them. After John had me read him a science book about bees, he asked me:

"Mama, what kind of feathers do people eat?"

"Feathers? Um, I don't think people eat feathers."

"Yes, they do. What kind of feathers are they?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about. I don't think that people eat feathers."

"Mama, there is a restaurant in Atlanta that sells wings."

I managed not to burst out laughing and I explained what "wings" are and that they are not feathers.

Having my four-year-old back with all his questions made me feel like everything was right with the world again.