ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Thursday, August 8, 1996 TAG: 9608080005
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: BETH MACY
SOURCE: BETH MACY
I have three days alone - three beautiful, rounded pearls.
- Virginia Woolf
It was left on the middle of my desk, on the back side of a Post-It note. In tiny print letters, my husband wrote:
Mommy we love you and we'll be real careful and we'll call you every day and we'll miss you lots and we'll talk about you all the time. Love, Your Family.
Right now it's Thursday morning, 10:05. They have been gone approximately one hour on their first father-son trip to the Midwest.
Because my husband is a school teacher - meaning, he gets 12 times more vacation days than I do - he figures a good summer ritual is to pack every toy we own and drive my only child 11 hours to Grandma's house in Indiana, where they plan to spend FIVE ENTIRE DAYS.
Without me.
Back in May, when he announced his intentions, I surveyed the clutter that has become the backdrop of my life - the toy-strewn floors, the calcified oatmeal bits, the endless demands for juice, the parade of potty-training accidents ...
Here's my gas card, I said.
Don't forget your wallet in West Virginia.
You might want to have some Gummi Bears on hand for that really long stretch in Ohio.
My imagination soared: I would sleep in every day. Eat waffles for dinner, pizza for breakfast, Popsicles for lunch.
I would do important, extraordinary things not normally afforded to working mothers, such as putting the laundry away before it gets worn again and tossing the moldy leftovers from the fridge.
I would be alone. It would be delicious.
Then about a week ago, the heart palpitations began. I confided my anxieties to several of my older, wiser women friends, whose eyes raised knowingly with that been-there-done-that look.
``Right now you are paralyzed with fear one moment and elated the next,'' said one.
``You're gonna go crazy,'' another offered.
``You'll be worried about a car wreck the first two days. The third day you'll enjoy your time alone. And the last two days you'll be so anxious waiting for them to come home you won't be able to stand it,'' said a third.
``Next year when they do this you'll actually have a good time.''
Another friend, who does not have children, smiled maniacally as she delivered this little tip: ``If you're worried about losing them both in one wreck, make them drive separately.''
For a split-second, I actually pictured my 2-year-old behind the wheel. If nothing else, she made me laugh.
Right now it's 11:33. They're probably on the West Virginia Turnpike. I regret not ordering them to phone me from the first toll booth.
I survey my calendar for the next five days: dinner with Karen, yard-saleing with Mary, shopping with Julie, movie with Kate. In between there's a page-long list of books, chores and projects to keep me busy. But it's not enough.
``Why don't you splurge on a massage while we're gone?'' my husband said, hugging me goodbye, pretending not to notice my tears. It's his standard offer when something's ailing me that he can't fix.
And then, watching me kiss my little boy in his car seat, for the 17th time, he said in his firmest, school-teacher voice:
``OK - it's time.''
The phone rang almost as soon as I stepped inside the house. It was my editor, with a question about a story. I could barely speak.
``Is this a bad time?'' she asked. ``You sound harried.''
``No, not at all,'' I said, gathering myself. Right now I have all the time in the world.
Three hours down so far, 117 more to go ...
LENGTH: Medium: 76 linesby CNB