This weekend I was home alone.
That’s right: Pi packed up the girls, on the tail ends of both him and Noggin having the stomach bug, and headed up North to visit his family. I had to work.
So, I had no choice but to stay home. Alone.
No rushing to make dinner, listening to whining about dinner, and arguing about how many bites of dinner is to be had.
No WW3’s about brushing teeth and getting jammies on.
No reading the same books for the 1,000th time.
No going in to pick up the pacifier that has for the 100th time been thrown on the floor.
No interrupted sleep.
No waking up at the crack of dawn.
After a very brutal drive down to the shore, I kicked up my feet, had my dad pour me a glass of wine (again, and again, and again) and enjoyed the sanctuary of NO. KIDS.
But here’s the thing.
I missed them. A LOT.
I texted Pi to see what they were doing and have him send me pictures.
I had “phantom cry” syndrome where I would wake in the middle of the night thinking I could hear Noggin crying.
I would be out shopping with my mom and I would frantically turn around, in a 1 second panic that a kid was missing before realizing I wasn’t with kids.
I loved my time alone, but I really missed my kids.
When they got home yesterday I scooped them up and covered them with kisses. Sweets greeted me with a “can I finish watching my movie?”
Noggin gave me tons of smiles and laughs and hung out in my lap for a good 30 minutes before I’d let her go. Apparently she missed momma over the weekend and did a good amount of crying, putting into question our claims of a “good baby.”
I wouldn’t take back my weekend alone (okay, I wasn’t alone, I was hanging out with my parents at the beach house. And for anyone that says “you had a weekend alone and you spend it with your PARENTS??” has not had the pleasure of meeting my parents and all I can say is WINE.)
But I am glad to have the house full of kids, chaos and crazy.
After all, that is my life. And I love it.
Have a great crazy day!