Alone

I was home alone this weekend. All. Alone. I have been waiting for this moment for seven years. Somehow I didn't realize before giving birth (I should really make a list of the very obvious things about motherhood that somehow didn't occur to me until after giving birth) that motherhood would mark the beginning of the end of ever being truly, truly alone. There was a stretch there where I wasn't even alone in the bathroom. So I anticipated this Indian Princess weekend—a Friday night to Sunday afternoon stretch of solitude—with the fervor of a thirsty person in the desert. The thing is, I've had small, brief tastes now that I work from home two days a week. Last year, it was just a few hours here and there while Sadie was at preschool. But this year, it is two full days of being alone all week. Only thing is, I'm always *working*, which sort of negates the beauty of being alone. (Although, after a fervent summer spent trying to WORK and parent, being home all alone while I'm working is not to be discounted.)

Anyhow, I was home alone this weekend. And I did all the things I wanted to do: I watched THREE movies (yes, three, but two of them were complete and total duds), I read, I ran eight miles in a beautiful nature preserve (now that we live .5 miles from wooded trails, driving somewhere to run is a luxury I very rarely take advantage of because it just adds to my Time Away from Home, or TAH). I ordered takeout Chinese. I hung out with the dog. I enjoyed a spectacular girls' night out fueled by two of the biggest margaritas ever, which culminated, finally, in the long-promised and often-talked-about karaoke. I played the world's longest and worst game of pool in my very own basement (last time I played pool in the basement was probably more than a year ago). I got a massage.

But here's the thing. I was alone, and it somehow didn't feel quite right. It was too quiet. Too much time watching a movie or lazing about made me feel twitchy enough to do some serious cleaning. Or to actually, gasp!, work. It felt off. After seven years of spending every single day either with Dean and the girls or with the girls or with just Dean, two whole days of being alone just didn't feel right. It's like when you first get your braces off and your teeth just feel so weird.

And what I realized isn't earth-shattering at all, but it's a nice reminder. Alone feels good and it's great and wonderful and relaxing, and you better believe I'm looking forward to the next Indian Princess campout with equal fervor. But this life--with the kids and the dog and the constant chores and the dinners that need to be made and the never-ending whirl of activity--is rich and textured and rewarding. As rich and textured and rewarding as it is stressful and chaotic and exhausting. Alone was nice but having them all come home again was even better.