Well, it was finally happening. After years of me yelling in an enraged and demented voice, “I NEED A VACATION!” Jamie and I were doing it.
Jamie’s boss, aka: the most magnificent boss in the world had offered to take us to Mexico. Six months ago when the offer came up I was dumbfounded. I could hardly believe what was being proposed to us—a full week of sun, sand, multi-coloured beverages and relaxing in a way I haven’t even dreamed of since giving birth to my children. Yep, you heard it; this particular vacation was going to be child free.
In all honesty the days leading up to our departure filled me with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to be sitting poolside in almost nothing but an excessively large wide brimmed hat sipping some kind of tropical beverage–that hopefully had far too much tequila in it–whilst the hubs and I heartily laughed about all the suckers still toiling away in the deep freeze of our Albertan fall.
(turns out fall isn’t that cold this year and I’ve suddenly turned into this old prude when it comes to nude beaches)
Maybe I was going a little too far. In reality as I prepared for Jamie and mines week away I was nearly soiling myself in fear that my darling children wouldn’t be able to cope without me. What if I’ve coddled them so much over these last seven years that anything more than a mere sleepover will send them spiralling down a self destructive path of sucrose overdose and tantrum overthrows? What if they miss me so much that some weird medical incident ensues and they end up becoming completely mute for an undetermined amount of time? What if…I should probably just stop myself now.
Of course I didn’t actually believe any of this would happen (or did I?) Probably not as it was going to be a combined effort from our friends and family members to look after our wee clones. And we felt so very gratified that we had such generous people in our lives willing to watch our most precious little people—while we get drunk on a beach somewhere.
However this still didn’t prevent the constant worry that had pitted itself in the back of my brain. I’m sure that any mother feels like this when taking leave from her babes. I think about how Sophie still sometimes wakes up in the night because she is afraid of the dark. What would happen when she cried out for me and I was nowhere to be found? Or what about when Lars gets one of his nosebleeds because of the dry weather? Would he keep his calm like Jamie and I have been teaching him? Or because of our non-appearance will he become overly upset? Thus creating a surplus of bloody tidal waves exiting his tiny beautiful nostrils.
There is also their calendar to think about. Luckily they aren’t in any extracurricular activities at the moment, but even their school schedules are quite involved. Will the babysitters be able to handle it all? Probably, once again I was letting my fears whisk me away.
Not to mention I had concocted a detailed ten page synopsis on how to live with the legendary Lars and Sophie. This included their usual routines down to the tiny quirks that I feel were necessary information for the adults who will temporarily be taking the place of Jamie and me.
But was it really enough? Will their hugs be the same as mine while watching that scary Scooby Doo movie? Will their taco Tuesday meal be as gloriously fun-filled as ours usually was? Will they know there is extra toilet paper underneath the bathroom sink?
As I wrote this heartfelt commitment of love about my darling miniatures, Lars sauntered up to me.
“What is your column about this time Mom?” He asks.
“I’m actually writing about when your dad and I go on our trip.” I say tentatively, assuming this will start a torrent of emotion to flow freely out of my oh so sensitive son.
“Cool! You should tell them that I am so excited for you to leave so I can have a sleepover at Uncle Dustin’s!”
And that was that my friends. Gone are the days of over-romanticizing my title as Mom. Hello beach lounging and tequila shots.