Four Days Gone

“The children were angels,” I was told.

Four days gone and not only were they angels, but they made all sorts of developmental strides.  Prior to my departure, Ella was content to crawl, following along behind me to every room.  At some point during my four day absence she decided that she would prefer to walk with the assistance of a hunched over adult and index fingers.  She also decided to add more nummy chub around her thighs, making her annoying repeated requests to WALK MORE more palatable.  But still…how can she go and change on me in those four short days?

Coming home to Carson, I found a boy who has suddenly started this new slow blinking/nodding yes thing and asking to wear big boy underwear.  These developments are both adorable and disconcerting.  Who IS this child?  He’s not the boy I left just four days before.

The return home and return to my life that is the mundane has been difficult. Saturday night, I desperately missed my kids and our routines.  Arriving home too late on Sunday, I did not get to see their sweet faces and smell their freshly washed hair before bedtime.  Quietly I crept into their rooms to catch a glance of them, peacefully sleeping and eagerly awaited the next morning when they would awaken.

Fours days gone and I expected a joyous welcome from my two children, whom I was certain missed me terribly.  I imagined they’d put their arms around my neck, squeezing extra tight, their love seeping through my pores.  I imagined Carson saying how much he had missed me and telling me how happy he was that had finally arrived home.

Monday morning I was met with a daughter whose first tooth seemed minutes away from erupting from her obviously tender and red gums.  Nothing I could do the entire day made her happy.  My long awaited reunion with my son was quickly squelched by my asinine suggestion to eat breakfast.  Screaming and tantrums abounded the rest of the day, ending in a triumph for Carson as he pissed on my shoulder while wearing his big boy underwear.

My husband’s reply when I told him about my day was, “Really?  Ella was so sweet the entire weekend and Carson didn’t have any tantrums.  The children were angels.”

Four days gone and my children were better behaved with me gone. 

It’s now Wednesday and I’ve been home for three days.  I think I’ve lost every shred of patience that I had, sadly thinking that my four day respite would have upped my reserves.  I’ve had to put Carson on the naughty step too many times to recount, sweep purposely dropped cottage cheese off the kitchen floor, and wash many a pissed soaked shirt and shorts.  I keep hearing the voice in my head that tells me that I’ve grabbed Carson’s upper arm too sharply.  The same voice seems to be yelling all the time.

I feel angry and cheated that my children, whom I have devoted (and WILL devote) years of my life, didn’t even seem to miss me.  Worse, they seemed to do better with me across the country.  Bitter pill to swallow to admit that I’m dispensible.  Even more bitter is the pill for admitting that this makes me feel angry and cheated.

Perhaps I should go away for four days ALONE more often to balance the “unfairness” that is my life?