Some Instruction Required
I’m within 48 hours of embarking on an annual girls weekend with all of my college girlfriends. It is easily one of my favorite weekends of the year. I’m very fortunate to be able to do this, I get that. I have reflected and feel a great deal of gratitude for this opportunity. But, the preparation required to leave this house and these animals has to be akin to the launching of a space shuttle—when space shuttles were still launched—darn it, now I feel old!
Back to leaving, which is glorious, and preparation, which is not. I will only be gone for one and a half school days and the rest is all weekend. The weekend I feel does not count, aside from getting to sports commitments and church, even I don’t care what these kids do on the weekend. But, we can’t screw up the school routine because I’ve been telling them all of this stuff is important and if you waver at all with these little people, they sense it. They’re like the scariest of predators in the wild waiting for your vulnerability to show so they can pounce and try to dominate you. I won’t go out like that. I refuse to let these little people win, but that means even when you’re on your annual drinking binge–I mean, girls trip–you’ve got to keep things running.
No One Does It Like You
Ain’t it the truth? I wish I knew why. I don’t consider myself to be even close to an exceptional mother. I think I’m fairly organized and intelligent, but I’m really nothing to write home about. So, the idea that I’m the most competent person running these people’s lives is scary, to say the least. This trip will involve the pre-making of dinners, lunches and snacks. It will include the selection and ironing of outfits that must be put out of reach until the appropriate time of wear. There will be copious lists and instructions for basically every person any of my three children come in contact with over the next 3 days.
Why is it so complicated?
Like every enigma the nuances are essential, yet hard to explain. For instance, if the four year old doesn’t have her item for sharing, she will go full tilt crazy, she will speak of nothing else for the next seven days. If you don’t remind the seven year old of his homework and stand over him like a warden he will simply not do it and be so thrilled that he cheated the system. The ten year old is fairly good and can even be of some assistance in locating items around the house, but he will inevitably not be able to locate an essential part of his soccer/school/church clothing because he is male and therefore lacks the ability to locate essential items five minutes prior to departing the house.
Let me also fully disclose that the caregivers that remain behind are extremely intelligent and competent people. My husband is a highly intelligent and capable person and truthfully does a great job, with a giant list of instructions—that he mostly ignores. My girlfriend calls it the manifesto. It is saved on my computer and updated anytime I leave the house overnight. There is a section for each child, for school, for extra curricular activities, carpools., you name it.
I’ve never attended a launch at NASA, but I feel like my manifesto would be competitive with any of their pre-flight documentation. And, I’m really not that particular. I’m not a crazy mom. I’m totally comfortable that my kids will be eating take out all weekend, drinking soda and going to bed too late.
I guess what it really boils down to is like any job, you can’t truly understand it until you do it for a while. I would not expect to go to your place of business and know how to send an email or even find a paper clip—are there still paper clips?—now I feel old, again!
So, in the scheme of things a little instruction is probably necessary for anyone taking off and leaving someone to take over their job for a few days. I should probably be easier on all of the wonderful people stepping up so I can take off. And really, let’s face it, as soon as I get on that plane I’m going to be pretending I’m 21 just like when I used to party with all of these girls I love so much. I’ll come back and put the pieces of my real life together next week, but this weekend I’ll party like a rock star—or better yet a mother of young children who doesn’t get out a lot—and those broads are CRAZY!!