A Week Without Our Kids

Our kids were gone for the week.

Wait a second, I didn't accurately express that.

OUR KIDS WERE GONE FOR THE WEEK??!?!

Cue the confetti drop.

It was the last week of summer. A week we'd all been collectively anticipating for months. The dates on the calendar on the fridge had been circled in three different shades of red for months. In a few short days, the school year full of hectic busy-ness would return.

But not yet.

"Where had our kids gone?" you may be wondering with concern. Had we shipped them off to a week-long prison, I mean camp? Had we arranged for one long sleepover with friends who had neglected to read the fine print on our contract? Had we told them to go play outside and lost track of time?

No.

One set of grandparents had actually requested to have the kids for the week which we gladly agreed to after first making sure that they were feeling okay. When we hung up the phone we laughed like two criminals who had pulled off the heist of the century. We cackled like two witches who'd mixed the most excellent devious potion. We giggled until our kids looked at us suspiciously wondering what, indeed, was that funny.

One moment they were here kissing us goodbye as we packed bags full of clothes, books, snacks and stuffed animals. We kissed and hugged and wished them well. We shed tears.

And they were gone.

Let the party begin!

Somehow the kids had made their way to their grandparents and we were free. To make it easy for you, I'll now eliminate all unnecessary words and punctuation from the previous sentence - kids left, we free.

Yes, we were free - not that I want to equate raising our kids to being incarcerated, but...not sure how to finish that sentence, so let's move on.

We stood there, the two of us, in our now empty and eerily quiet living room, stunned and utterly unprepared for the moment. I made a mental note to jump for joy later on that day in front of the mirror when in full control of my limbs and facial muscles so as to truly capture the moment.

Once the dust had settled, we looked at each other, sat, and wondered what we should do first as we prepared to shake off the shackles of bedtime stories and dinners prepared just so and insisting on rooms being cleaned up. For one whole week there would be no fights for the remote or crying after family games or petty arguments to break up, or at least none involving children for a change.

Seeing as both of us were still on holidays, the choices were seemingly unlimited. For once, we could almost do whatever we wanted for 7 whole days including, but not limited to, building a killer fort with couch cushions. I was about to smack myself in the face repeatedly, but my wife beat me too it. Ouch.

I don't want to give the wrong impression, at least not right now, but it was initially a tad overwhelming. To state the obvious for the record, we love our kids. As busy and crazy as our weeks are together, I wouldn't trade it for anything, aside from slightly less whining. And it's not that I can't pick and chose how I spend my free time, but, as a parent you are used to having so many restrictions.

Afterschool programs and lessons and meal times and homework and shopping and sports and bedtimes and don't forget about quality family time. When you add that all up, carry the one and then subtract from the total it doesn't leave a whole lot of time to do too much for yourself especially if your math skills are rusty. For the two parents to actually spend time together outside of 9:45-10:45 at night after the kids are finally asleep, the dishes are done, the living room tidied enough to live in again and the parents with only enough energy to lay on the couch would be amazing.

We sat there, huddled together for warmth before remembering that it was summer, and alternatively stared at each other and the blank TV screen. What to do and where to go first? How to best utilize the week without blowing the bank, or blowing the bank without being caught? How crazy and outlandish should our plans be?

The questions assaulted my brain as did the pillow my wife was playfully hitting me with while we sat there with this wide expanse of unscheduled time and no one to look after. It had only been a few minutes and yet it already felt so strange. And somehow being this strange person in a strange land, felt like deja vu for me. Like I'd been here before, years ago when I was a younger, less-wrinkled version of myself.

Why?

Then it dawned on me, it was just like the time right before we first became pregnant. 33 and 31, relatively young, and free. Technically my wife was the only one pregnant (she called dibs), but I like to refer to us as "we" for tax and insurance purposes.

Back in those days, life was full of impromptu trips to random destinations. We'd spend whole afternoons strolling around looking in shops and having coffee and selecting ingredients for a meal we'd cook together while enjoying jazz music and white wine. We'd spend afternoons throwing frisbees in the park without any idea what time it was as there was nowhere to go and nowhere to be.

At the drop of a hat, we'd race off to listen to live music or hit a tennis ball or watch a movie or all the above at the same time. Though busy in life, it felt like there was time. Time to sleep in, to "waste" an afternoon laying on the couch or in a lawn chair somewhere. We were always able to operate at our own speed, mess with the schedule, do what we wanted when we felt like it, before kids.

Then the kids arrived and everything changed. Mostly for the best (remember we love our kids), but as busy parents we often longed for some of the life we'd left behind.

And now, 10 years later, we had a week to recapture all of that.

Before you think that we didn't, we did.

We went for lazy lunches and lounged at cafes for hours on end, I wrote and she read and we actually took yoga classes together. Matinees were watched, puzzles were collaborated on and games were played.

We were out for dinner one night and ran into a couple we know who were struggling with their two little kids. It was a scene we had acted before many many times. The parents were being pulled in a millions directions at once by their two little ones. They looked at us and we at them.

"Where are your kids?" they asked with curiosity and exhaustion. The answer was given and the looks we received were ones of incredulity and jealousy as having any amount of free time seemed like a concept so foreign to them that it was as if we were speaking a different language or that we were aliens offering them a free ride on our spaceship.

We'd been there. We knew how they felt. We had longed for free time and now we had it. And, though we had a wonderful week, it did feel foreign and strange and weird. As much fun as we had together in our freedom, the whole time it felt like something huge was missing.

My afro from my 20s. I mean, the kids - definitely the kids.

It's true, we missed our kids. It was like two pieces of a very simple jigsaw puzzle were missing and the puzzle was just incomplete. For the better part of 10 years, we'd always been together; playing, reading, eating and everything in between. We are a family that spends a lot of time together and now we weren't. It just felt odd.

Not that this odd feeling prevented us from living it up as much as two forty-something homebodies could live it up, but throughout each day the following thoughts and queries were spoken:

"I wonder what the kids are up to?"
"Wouldn't the kids like that?"
"I miss them."

The house was too quiet. Evenings without bathtime and bedtime and reading time felt unusually long. No good night hugs and kisses and "I love you mom and dad" as one last treat before the day ended was strange. Mornings without a little one walking quietly up to me as I slept saying "can you wake up with me now?" just felt odd.

And then it hit me. I was seeing into the future. A future without a full house.

This week was sort of like what it will be like when our kids have grown up and moved out. When we aren't a young family any longer. When there are no mouths to feed and cuts to bandage and homework to help with. When our kids have grown up become adults and have moved out. When this week without kids at home becomes the long-term reality of our lives.When we are old.

Shudder.

This week alone both reminded me of when we were younger while also giving a glimpse into what it will be like at the other end of the rainbow one day. I saw that that life, as great as it is right now and as much as we wish for time to slow down, will continue to march towards the end of this stage. That all of the wonderful and amazing things we all do together do have expiration dates. Time marches on and kids do grow up.

We'd had a wonderful day together; lots of laughs and chances to fully relax, yet at the end of this nice day, we sat there in our slightly-depressingly empty nest, and I felt sad that this thoroughly enjoyable phase we are so fortunate to be in, will inevitably come to an end.

But not yet.

Clearly, this week would end and our buoyant and joyous kids would bounce and scream back into our world. This week would end and our lives would once again be filled with laughter and crying and frustratingly-annoying sibling squabbles and fights before we knew it. This week would end and it would quickly seem like nothing but a figment of our imagination. This week would end and we'd long for some free time without kids.

And as we spent the last evening, eating our final dinner and watching a movie completely of our choice at the ungodly hour of 8:00pm, we wished we'd done more with our time. Buyer's remorse?Had we done all we could have done? Did we fully utilize our time in such a way that we'd have no regrets? What did it say about us that we weren't completely able to let loose and enjoy ourselves without our kids? Had we become lame? Had I lost my separate identity over time and fully become Tommy, the father who couldn't exist and function on his own?

And then they came back.

Full of stories and items grandma bought for them and questions and energy! Wanting to go out and stay in and be driven places and to see friends and have meals cooked and on and on and on. And though I would have loved for a few hours on a Sunday just to do whatever I wanted on my own without a soundtrack of complaining or whining or pleading, I was so happy to see them and never wanted them to leave again.

Ever.