Alone

Moms don’t get a lot of alone time.  Neither do teachers.  Consequently, we cherish those fleeting moments when nobody needs us. 

Today, the strangest thing happened.  My whole family woke up in the morning, got in their respective vehicles, and drove off to work.  I was still in my pajamas, sipping coffee.  

What is happening?  Is this my life?

The craziest part is that this will also happen tomorrow.  And next week.  And the week after that.  

I’m not even sure I can publish this blog post.  I feel so… spoiled.  Indulgent.  Privileged.  

Irrelevant.  

God.  What the heck is that? I’m having a lot of feelings about this particular transition.  Of course I’m excited.  

But excitement feels like the right emotion for a day or two of this type of freedom. I’m not talking about a day or two.  I’m talking about… from now on. From now on, nobody needs me to drive them to school or practice.  From now on, they can finance their own doordash habits and make their own plans with their friends.  

I was already mourning our summertime trips to the zoo and the children’s museum.  I understood that those were clearly a thing of the past. The oldest is working full time.  But I didn’t think the youngest was going to find a job this summer.  He hasn’t had much luck in his search.  And if he did get a job, I figured it would be maybe ten hours a week.  I thought we still had this one last summer for day trips and beach visits and spontaneous sushi lunches. 

And then he got lucky.  He landed a job.  A good one.  Practically full-time.  Monday through Friday, 8am to 2pm.  He’s really excited.  And I’m really happy for him.  But it happened fast.  I didn’t have time to think it through. 

I thought about the details.  Getting his work permit signed.  Setting up his bank account for direct deposit.  Making sure he had the right clothes and his ID badge and the pep talk about first impressions and working hard and building your reputation. 

But this morning, he drove away, with his lunch box and a smile.  And I hadn’t really thought about what comes next.  

The summer I imagined is gone.  I’m not going to have any spontaneous sushi lunches with my kid.  I’m not going to get to bring him and his friends to the beach on a random Wednesday.  I’m not going to get to drag him to an obscure museum because we’re both a little bored.  

That makes me sad.  Like, really sad.  Sadder than I expected.  

My husband just called, expecting me to be joyful.  I could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “How’s your day all by yourself?”  

I sobbed into the phone.  “I didn’t expect to be sad, but I’m (sob) so (sob)…. saaaaad.” 

“Seriously?” He asked.  “I thought I was calling for good news.  I thought you’d be thrilled.”

I also thought I’d be thrilled.  This sadness snuck up on me. 

*****

Fast forward six hours.  I’m done crying, and it’s actually been a pretty good day.  I read a little, ran some errands, did some chores… I went to the library and checked a couple of items off my to-do list.  I talked to my sister, texted a friend, and cuddled my dog.  I made plans for a walk with a friend tomorrow, and I’m feeling a little more like myself.

It’s an odd feeling, but I think that’s my mission at this phase in my life.  To feel more and more like myself.  I’ll always be a mom… but I’m defined by it less and less as they get older.  I have to remember what ELSE I am.  I’m a reader.  A biker.  A friend.  A sister.  A writer.  A cook. A camper.  A protester.  And I can be new things, too. A friend and I want to take a pottery class.   I could be a thrower (I had to google “What do you call someone who uses a pottery wheel”).   Another friend offered to teach me pickleball.  I just found a new podcast and I’m really loving my daily walks and crocheting beautiful things. 

*****

My friends with little kids are jealous of this time I have to myself.  My friends with older kids will say, “At least they’re still at home with you.”  Every phase brings joys and challenges.  I could miss what was and be sad.  I could worry about what it will feel like when they’re gone.  Or I could just be HERE.  In these six sweet weeks of summer that will be unlike any other.  Enjoying them when they’re around… and finding myself when they’re not.