I have 10 year-old twins. Two of my good friends also have twins. Everyone works. All the kids are involved in sports. Between homework, practices and trying to make dinner, no one has time for anything. Their lives are crazy; my life is crazy. But for one glorious week last summer our lives weren’t so crazy.
My one friend’s kids went to grandmas for the week; and, she was home alone with her husband. A whole week of date nights, sleeping in and afternoon movies. No silly fights to break up, no kids to entertain. My other friend was home alone with her kids while her husband was away on business. A whole week of kid snuggles and no snoring husband. No dirty underwear, no pee on the toilet seat. Pretty awesome!
But me, I was heading out to Las Vegas for a weeklong seminar. Alone. No kids. No husband. Not even a token co-worker to annoyingly share my room with. I’d be leaving our area code, our state, heck even our time zone! Winner, winner, mommy Mc-chicken-dinner, I won the grand prize.
My husband and kids dropped me off at the Miami airport early the next morning and I walked in like a lady. A lady with 2 small travel bags. I was not a pack mule. I was not the sleep-deprived, coffee-crazed, frizzy-haired mom with juice stains on her pants. It was a welcome change.
Our usual pre-flight routine looks something like this: I’ve been up since 4 AM making sure that the ever-growing list of electronics are charged, and securely packed next to everyone’s headphones. I’m wearing something I would work out in. I pack a scarf to make me feel “fancier”. I park in long-term parking cause it’s cheaper. I’m alone with the kid cause my husband has to work; he’ll join us sometime later in the week. The kids and I load our three Disney-themed, scratched up suitcases onto the shuttle bus and freeze. Why are shuttle buses always so flipping cold? We bump along in the bus on our way to the terminal. While trying to warm my goosebumps, my kids are either asking a million questions about the trip—which I’ve answered before—or fighting about who will sit by the window. We struggle with our luggage off the bus, into the elevator and up the stairs to check-in. My son drops the “electronics bag” 3 times on the way to the counter. I yell. I’m perplexed because while my son is a straight “A” student, he’s quite incapable of getting the suitcase over the lip getting into or out of an elevator. I’m ready for a cocktail. Is 6:15 AM too early to drink? One entire suitcase is usually full of snuggle toys, my daughter’s special blanket, books I stupidly think they will read, and clothes they will refuse to wear once we land at our destination.
Back to my solo trip to Las Vegas. I check-in and use three plastic bins at security and not the 7 we normally need: one for my purse, one for my laptop, and one for my knapsack. It’s normally a small freak show. I walk past the Kid’s Fun Center on the concourse, and whisper, “sorry playground, not this trip”. The kids are home. I chuckle.
So here I am, on my first trip without my kids or husband. It’s easily been 12 years since I’ve traveled anywhere alone on a plane. Apparently, it’s harder than I thought to lose the mom look, cause the gate agent asked me if I was traveling alone. “Well, yes, yes I am”, I replied. And thank you for reminding me there was not a juice box in sight, no Gummie Bears in my pocket and no mystery stain on my shirt. I had my laptop, my phone, the NY Times, and my journal for the 5-hour flight to Sin City. That was it. No little travel buddies for this gal, ask someone else. The last time I packed for a solo trip I was jetting off to Hedonism in Negril, Jamaica, but that’s a way different story from a way pre-mom time.
I board the plane with a bottle of water instead of three. I find my seat, sit down, and It’s quiet. That was easy. It took 5 minutes. No fights about who sits by the window. No one argued with me about getting the crappy snack while their sibling always gets the good snack.
Pretty soon the pilot was blasting the 737 down the runway, I looked to my left and I had no idea who was sitting next to me. I looked to my right, nope, no clue who she was either. I smiled. Then I laughed. I’m alone. This really happened. I am alone. For the next six days.
I’d known about this conference for 5 months but I had only just bought my ticket 10 days ago, because I figured someone would get sick, something would break, or my husband would have a work conflict, leaving yours truly stuck holding the mommy bag, again.
The first hour or two everyone slept, window shades drawn. The inside of the shiny silver fuselage looked more like a cave in the mountains. I read the paper, and by “the paper” I mean the New York Times; if you’re from NY there really is no other paper. My dad would have been proud of me. He always harasses me because I don’t read the paper as he does. He has no clue what my life is like. The last time he visited I got exactly 5 sentences into a story and my kids were crawling on me for breakfast, which I had to throw down their throats as we ran out the door to baseball, followed by a birthday party.
I don’t think my job knew just how difficult this trip would be for me. Asking a mom to leave her kids for 6 days is well, damn near impossible. I love my kids as every mom does, but being alone is amazing.
I shall do my best to settle into a week alone. Exploring new restaurants, working out, eating when and where I want, watching what I want on TV, actually having control of the remote. Oh yeah, and going to my seminar classes. I’m giddy as I think about watching whatever I want. For 6 days. But right now, all I want to do is ask the guy sitting next to me if he will open the window shade cause mommy wants to enjoy the view.