Husband decided to take the first week off to watch our boys full time. Yes, ladies, the promise of reward sex is that powerful.
Last week, spring break began for my children. Many people remarked that it seemed awfully late this year.
"Have you and your kids been going crazy?" they asked.
Crazy is such a relative term.
Combine seasonal allergies with an impending holiday season that includes arguments over whether rice is Kosher for Passover and we've passed crazy and crashed headlong into certifiable long ago.
Spring break, for us, always coincides with Passover. Working or going to school during our weeklong holiday is not a violation of Talmudic law. The only steadfast rule is to abstain from eating leavened bread, which includes beer, but not wine, otherwise I never would have converted in the first place.
This year, Husband decided to take the first week off to watch our boys full time and give me a break.
Yes, ladies, the promise of reward sex is that powerful.
Then he decided to take the kids to the East Coast for a few days of bodysurfing, bonding, and maybe a forbidden muffin. I was thrilled to have time alone in which to work, write, and maybe enjoy an uninterrupted poop. I told them to stay longer if they so desired.
Saying goodbye to my boys, all three of them, early Tuesday morning consisted of many hugs and kisses, but no tears. They needed a break with Daddy and were excited to take off. After they left, the change was immediate and jarring.
I heard something strange outside our windows.
"What the hell is that?" I said.
I peeked through the curtains and noticed several trees filled with adorable little wingéd creatures, singing for everyone to hear.
I sighed happily and fixed a cup of tea. When children are rushing about, refusing to use their inside voices because a lost science packet is due in 15 minutes, those birds don't stand a fucking chance.
Similar discoveries and experiences occurred during my two days alone.
For example, I was able to eat breakfast before the eggs turned cold and calcified, while sitting down instead of perched over the table reminding two kids not to slouch, for the first time in over 10 years.
On my way to work, instead of tuning into NPR and pretending to understand Libyan politics, I listened to Howard Stern and laughed at fart jokes.
No one called my office to ask if three hours of video games was "pushing it."
On the way home, I played the new Beastie Boys song without coughing over curse words.
In two days, I clocked more overtime than in the last five years combined.
At home, I didn't have to make eye contact with anyone.
I talked on the phone without preteen nightmares turning the hallway into a bowling alley.
I ate dinner while reading Newsweek cover to cover and didn't have to remind Husband to chew with his mouth closed.
I slept through the night without getting up to check on anyone, which naturally meant no tripping over toys, no stubbing toes, no cursing China for producing nightlights that don't work.
I exercised twice as long without interruptions for hugs, kisses and snuggles.
But then again, I exercised twice as long without interruptions for hugs, kisses and snuggles.
Waiting for kids and Husband to return, the realization hit me. It was immediate and jarring. I'll never be one of those moms defining herself by what came out of her uterus, but I'll never be one of those women who thrive only at work. I am defined by the eternal balance of both. I am defined by enjoying, balancing and devoting myself to both career and family.
I'm glad for the break, but I missed my boys — all three of them.
Fuck the birds.
This article appears in Apr 28 – May 4, 2011.