Just One Night

let me start off by saying that I understand how you feel. You're home with the kids day in and day out, little chance of a hot dinner, shower by yourself, 1/2 hour of reading/resting/relaxing, or going for walk without singing songs about looking both ways.. and I know that you daydream about the opportunity to flee from the scene, to run -or walk fastly- from the very ones you birthed, wiped and bounced, but you don't. Instead, after all of this, after the burnouts and tantrums and tears, you want to get away for just one simple night. but you also want to do all of these simple things, all of these things that have been deemed impossible with small (or even large) children at home.

Someday, mama, you will get this chance. If you're like me you'll have a baby still in tow. She'll be nursing frequently, she'll poop when you finally arrive to the restaurant, diapers left in the hotel. She'll probably cry while you bathe and she'll wake every 40 minutes through the night. But that is nothing compared to the constant corraling of three eager little bodies, refereeing sibling attacks between the oldest two and sheilding the baby from a four-year-old's enthusiastic lee-than graceful monster mashes.

Now, though, you are free. you've gathered your belongings, washed your babe's cloths, arranged appropriate accomodations and planned ahead with a supply of bandages, cookies, infant socks (in your pocket, of course) and tampons- just in case. You have a room, you arrive with a smile, your key works, there is no urine on the bathroom floor. Heaven, right?

And then is starts. you begin to miss them- the very ones you needed to break away from. wondering if they're thinking about you, if their happy, if they remembered to brush their teeth. Wondering if they'll be able to fall asleep without you by their side, without goodnights and talks of dreams. Wondering if you'll be able to sleep without their cuddles and giggles, silly jokes and interpretations. you really miss them.

You eat hot pizza, drink cold beer, and sit back. The TV's on, the windows are open, there are no toys in sight. Peacefulness surrounds you as you indulge, as you let your mind travel, as you watch the baby sleep.

and then once you're nice and buzzed, face flushed and walls not quite still, you find the snacks. You eat, and eat and eat, because you can. Two jerkys, one cookie, one day-old brownie, and four chimp-mints. with the beer.

and now you're sick. and the baby woke up. and your hotel room neighbor is having a loud three-way with two random guys (yeah, the Hilton wouldn't be my first pick for privacy) and you feel alone. you wish you could hug your partner (who is, by the way, chillin' in the room next door, but needing to be alone in preperation of his LSAT the next morning). you wish you could call your children and whisper sweet thoughts. you wish you could help the baby, but you can't.

the next day, fresh and revived, you head out for breakfast with your mini-me. you eat waffles, drenched in a blueberry compote, sip your coffee, read about greek goddesses. you pay a nice tip since the baby had dropped nearly half her food, and screeched/laghed/waved throughout your meal. you move on, buy a book, buy some baby clothes, buy some more coffee, sit down in a restaurant with your love, after his test, for 15 minutes, only to leave empty handed.

hours later, full or pizza, beer and Eugene's extreme left/right personality, you catch a bus. the ride is neutral, the baby's happy enough, no one has puked, no one has lost a wallet. home is close enough.

when you finally arrive in Portland, everything is familar. the smells remind you of our damp trees, baren and shallow. the colors pull at you, as if reality has just set in. your girls are safe in you mother-in-law's borrowed van, one smiling at your mere presence, the other soundly sleeping in the back.

you made it, and you feel satisfied and present. life has taken you on many journeys, and you appreciate the luxery of a break, but you realize just how much you need your family, and how nice it is to be back. ('Til next week.)