This weekend, I am packing my bag and hopping on a plane… by myself!
I have to admit that I have very mixed feelings about this.
Before having my kids, spending a weekend with my best friend was a no-brainer. Something I would count down to with anticipation. Something we would plan for weeks in advance. And something that happened at least a couple times a year even though we were a thousand miles apart.
Then, my son came along. Then, my daughter after that. And my best friend became text that appeared on my computer. Somewhat unknown text as names of people became foreign to me. If I had heard the names before, they didn't stick because my mind was elsewhere. I would have to check old e-mails to confirm names of people I should have known. I would kick myself and insist that I be better about holding up my end of the friendship.
I keep telling myself that it is something that inevitably happens when one friend moves through any number of life stages be it from single to dating, or dating to married, or from DINKs to parents.
Through thick and thin, my friendship has ebbed and flowed with my best friend from Colorado. We have a way of not talking for months and then picking up like we never left off. It's a friendship that I can rely on, but yet, that I hope I don't take for granted.
Back to the point of my post... A few months ago, she invited me to spend a weekend with her and a few others from high school in the Colorado mountains. Normally, this would be something I would thank someone for the invitation and not really give it a second thought. But for some reason I clicked to find what it would cost to fly there and when I found airline tickets for a reasonable price that accommodated my schedule and thus, my husband's schedule for taking care of the kids, I jumped on them.
Now, the week has arrived and I have to admit that even though I am thoroughly excited to see her (first and foremost), as well as eat in a restaurant without interruption, getting to choose an entree based solely on what I want, not what one of my children might eat, sleep through the night and then sleep in, get a pedicure without rushing to get home risking smudging, and go swimming without carrying a small being, I am feeling a touch of anxiety about the trip.
Leaving my kids for a weekend is hard. Yes, I am a wuss. I have friends who jump at the chance to get away -- though I think their kids are older and maybe thus more annoying. I am thoroughly lucky that I have a spouse who is perfectly capable of taking care of two kids on his own for a weekend (even though he will be completely exhausted when I get home Sunday late afternoon) and who encourages me to go do things like this.
I know we will have a most fabulous time, and once there, I will sink into the giggling and the "remember when" statements. And that I will think the weekend will have flown by too fast. And I will leave and resolve to be a better friend.
But my mind? I am fooling myself to think it won't be at home with my kids.