Alone. This is what I’ll be for 49 days this summer when I will be sans kids and other domestic responsibility. The tickets are booked. One might imagine this would be an opportunity to run around the house naked, eat Twinkies for breakfast, take fabulously exotic vacations, and purge myself of my parental unit developed auto-pilot speech, such as: “Pick up your room,” and “Did you do all your homework?” and, “Why do you only have one pair of underwear in the laundry this week?” But, I get a lot of pleasure from hanging out with the kids. I will miss their company.
Hey, wait, that means 7 weeks without having to cook or clean. That means two loads of laundry total for the week. It means I can clean their bathroom and have its declaration as a Federal Disaster Area revoked.
Time to jaunt off to the coast and get my fix of sun, surf, and sand.
Time to watch B&W movies that the kids won’t watch.
Time to sit at my art desk and play, uninterrupted.
Time to visit with my friends.
Time to be with my Daisy.
Wow, this could be good.
Published on: May 18, 2006
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