I can travel more easily if I pack lightly and not bring any sharp knives or objects through security. They also said that a book does not count as my carry-on item. Hoodilolly, that logic is earth shattering.

So I leave for Atlanta on Wednesday for that Bradley conference, and I’m swinging between excited and extremely sad. I don’t want to leave my bambinos, though I know they’re going to love being with Daddy Awesome.

Part of it is because Jack is going through a phase where he thinks he is ‘scary’ of everything (the wind, thunder, the hippo under his bed) and he’s been crawling in bed with us, snuggling in and stage-whispering his goodnights. I treasure this time with him because he has never been a very cuddly child, and his hugs and kisses are quick and few. So I get to curl my arm across his chest and feel his little heart and breath move. I’m humbled by the fact that I often have to let go of the parenting-reigns with him (even if that reason is not necessarily my fault or his, but just is), so having these moments of quiet gives me the freedom to just love on him without restriction. Probably because he’s asleep, but it’s an innate mothering I haven’t been able to do for him since he was too little to tell me otherwise.

I’m also sad to leave my little cuddle monkey. My early-rising FARTKNOCKER whose damn internal clock hasn’t reset from Standard Zombie Time yet, and is still calling for breakfast at four-fricken-a.m. The little koala who somehow figured out she gets all my extra Jack-momminess as a spillover. She charms everyone she meets, but don’t be fooled: she’s no dummy. Woe is the person who dares cross her.

I love her so much I miss her when she naps.

So after a cozy night with everyone in the bed I woke up today feeling somewhat weepy at the thought of leaving my beloved family for four long, sad days. My primary role right now is Mommy, and this has been the majority of my identity the last few years.

But then the internet wouldn’t connect and Jack refused to change out of his pajama top that smelled like pee (because his night-diaper had spillethed over again) and Lorelei was screeching because the cat was batting at her pacifier and I couldn’t find my watch because I forgot it was apparently living in the pantry and the dog wouldn’t go outside because he’s a hundred-plus Rottweiller ninny that’s afraid of rain and the other cat ran out to the garage and hid under the car even though I was late and I half-considered just taking the risk of running over the plant-pooping little creep and when I talked to the IDIOTS AT AT&T Jack was on one side hollering ‘Mommy press the blue button to get to Noggin’ and Lorelei was on the other calling for more pizza while she waved a piece in each fist and though I tried so hard to keep my new white t-shirt clean I still somehow managed to dribble pumpkin coffee all over the freaking sleeve but WORST of all is the broken blood blister I got on my lip when I tried to kiss Lo during a tantrum and she reared back and gave me a head-butt*.


So I think on second thought I’ll probably be fine on my own for a few days.


*I bet that was the most heinous run-on sentence of all time. Take that, Faulkner.