Conflicted Feelings...

Life with kids is so bittersweet.  There is something both reassuring and stifling about the daily grind.  Each day of the week is like a regimented sequence of events that is totally predictable yet never quite the same.  I find the end of every work day in a giant rush to get home in enough time to get Kid A to (insert activity of the day) and Kid B fed and bathed so that you can pick up Kid A in time so you can get back in time to get Kid B to bed so you can do Kid A’s reading homework and still get Kid A to bed on time so you in turn can get Parent A and B fed and Parent B an hour to do marking and Parent A an hour to finish charting and rant on her blog so that Parent A and B can get to bed so that, 7 hours later Parent B can wake up and get Kid B to day care and still get himself to work while Parent A can wake up to get Kid B’s lunch prepared in time to get Kid B on the bus so Parent A can get to work on time.

PHEW.

So you can imagine the delight we feel when Grandparents willingly (and GLADLY) ask to take BOTH Kids A AND B for a 2-night sleepover to their place.

You would THINK that there could be NOTHING more BLISSFUL for Parent A and Parent B.

And there ALMOST isn’t…

EXCEPT for 2 things: Guilt and…some other feeling I can’t quite pinpoint.

Don’t ask me why…I know that I’m a good mom and I KNOW that I deserve a nice break.  I could even add on top of that the added bonus of how “the most important thing you can do for your kids is to love their daddy” and there’s nothing like a kid free weekend to reconnect you to your spouse.

I know all that.  But I feel the guilt anyways. 

And I worry.

I worry that they will misbehave.  I worry that they will exhaust my mother.   I worry that they will get into a car accident and die on the way down.  I worry that they will stress my father out.  I worry that Mia will fall out of bed. I worry that they will get sick.  I worry that they won’t sleep.  I just worry, even though I know they are in the hands of someone who loves them JUST as much as I do.  I worry because they are not in MY hands.

And then there’s that other feeling - - the one I can’t quite pinpoint.  It’s an incompleteness and a longing and a loving.  I want to be part of the fun that my kids are having with my parents.  Having a lovely relaxed dinner out is so enjoyable, but I want to come home and kiss them goodnight and watch them while they sleep for a bit afterwards.   I LOVE sleeping in on Sunday morning (like the rest of the world) but I miss, for just a fleeting second, getting to be a part of Mia’s wake up routine when she comes RUNNING into our room, dolling out hugs and kisses as she realizes another day is HERE and she gets to be a part of it!

But by the end of the weekend, the relaxation of life without kids has settled in…and as the exhausted calls from Grandma come in asking when and where we will meet to do handover I feel the guilt and the “other feeling” dissipate…I’m excited to see them but I’m already mourning the return of the slow march of daily routine…

This past weekend my kids spent an amazing weekend with their Grandma Lynda; Rob and I spent a relaxing weekend skiing, eating and sleeping.    It was the usual mix of excitement, sadness and relief when I got to pick them up again.

They had been well behaved.  No one had fallen out of bed.  My mom still loved them.  My dad was already asking when they could come back.  No one died on the way there or back.  And they were healthy, happy, full of stories, and excited to see me.

When we got home we emptied the car and they rushed around showing me all the things they had made, done and brought home from Grandma’s house.  Could I please PLEASE read to them the HILARIOUS new book Grandma had given them?

I had an hour to get them unpacked and dinner ready so we could do bath and get to bed on time, but I embraced my relaxed state - - for 15 minutes I was just going to lie with them, read a book and enjoy just BEING with my kids.

As we read and laughed together about Mr. Muddle and his crazy ways, I rubbed their backs and played with their hair and smiled; warm, safe and together again, life had never seemed simpler.  It was in the midst of these blissful thoughts that sweet little Mia looked up at me and, smiling lovingly, said with innocent precision,

“Mommy…You know what?”

“What…?” I answered dreamily,

“You’re rubbing my BUTT CRACK.”

And just like that, life was back to normal again.