It is nine Saturday morning and I long for a morning off.

“I’ll take them if you get them ready,” my husband offers.

Isn’t the whole point a break for me?

Why is it that any time, scheduled or last minute, that appears to be an opportunity for me to be alone -- shrinks before my eyes? I am packing snacks, dressing children, loading backpacks, finding shoes, etc.

But why do I need to do anything at all?

“Can’t you do it?” I suggest.

“I don’t know what they need,” he responds with a straight face.

I begin to question my husband’s mental faculties.

My husband is a fly-by-the-seat of his Levis kind of guy. Snacks? We will forage! Water bottles? We will find a stream! Extra clothes? We warriors will run naked!

Often they are back within an hour. They are usually hungry, thirsty and soaking wet.

I try to stock my own car so that it could survive any excursion. Extra clothes, first aid kit, healthy snacks, etc. Of course, my husband prefers to take his car. This actually is a relief to me since I do not want to hear the never-ending commentary on how my car is always filthy and full of useless stuff.

It is ten a.m. and the natives are getting restless. If I wait much longer there will be blood or tears. Or both.

So I go ahead and transfer the necessary rations to his car. I am painfully aware that I may never see these things again.

There is that resentment once more.

I pack the car and kiss them goodbye. I am relieved to no longer have to complain about them not wanting to go without me. Finally, they are excited at the prospect of “daddy time.”

Rather than feeling left out, I feel “let out.”

I try to pin my husband down as to when they will be back. He cannot comprehend why this matters. “In a while. We’ll see what happens.” He has no idea that the amount of time I have is directly proportionate to how relaxed I am able to get. More time means I can get more relaxed. If I think they are coming back any minute, I can’t relax at all.

It is already ten-forty. I worry they will never leave. I don’t exhale ‘till the car turns the corner.

On these rare occasions that I do somehow manage to escape the vortex of my family, I am often so exhausted from the preparations that my first half hour alone is spent recuperating. Then I frantically do things that can be done quickly.

It is eleven. I throw in a load of laundry. Pay bills. Walk the dog. Answer e-mails.

The truth is they could be back in five minutes or after dinner. I so long for any quiet time in my own home that I will take what I can get even if I never get to relax. I do not dare to embark on any kind of project that might involve lengthy prep time or clean up. Must maximize private time.

It is now twelve-thirty. They will probably be back any minute. I am starving. Do I still have time to eat something hot?

By Cathy Burke

Labels: Cathy Burke, children, Mother freedom

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My family and friends find it extremely amusing to remind me of a time when I used to question the necessity of having children. “They just weigh one down,” I would pontificate. How could one be impulsive or do anything spontaneous such as fly off to Europe with friends on a whim?

I can’t ever imagine giving up this freedom, I would famously say.

But I did, willingly, periodically lamenting what I gave up with the caveat, “but I got so much more in return!”

Then a few years ago I joined my best friend for a girl’s weekend in New York. It would be the first time I was away since my daughter was born. I flew to N.Y. on sheer euphoria, Ah! To be free and footloose once again!

But from the moment I landed, I missed my daughter so much I could hardly move a muscle. It was as close to a panic attack as you could get. I would have flown back immediately if it wouldn’t have seemed crazy.

How had I become this person who couldn’t even breathe when her child was out of range?
When my mother asked about my trip all I said was, “I’m never doing that again.”
And I didn’t - nixing any idea that even suggested a trip without kids.

That was over three years ago. From the sidelines I envied moms who went for business trips or girlfriend weekends and though they missed their children, seemed to do it without being paralyzed by some indefinable fear.

Now another friend has invited me to Las Vegas.

“Go,” says my husband, “it’ll be good for you. She was fine the last time and she’ll be fine this time, too.”

So, in the interest of showing that I have positively matured since my N.Y. trip, I agree. My friend and I have spent the last few days booking our hotels and flights and looking at our choice of shows on the Internet.

Should we go for some Cirque du Soleil extravaganza or magic show or concert? Or something Vegas-like and adult?

Wait a minute…what’s this?

“Thunder From Down Under!”

“A tasteful and titillating time for everyone…” states the review.

Both tasteful and titillating? Well in that case. . . maybe I could be persuaded to enjoy a few days of freedom after all.

By Tania Malik

Labels: girl's weekend, Las Vegas, Mother freedom, New York

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