Home Alone

I’m not really home alone. I have my two boys with me, but without adult supervision.  My husband often travels for work -- sometimes for short periods, sometimes for several weeks. The lead up to his “leaving” is painful for all of us -- the boys don’t understand why he has to go, and I get cranky when I think about it, I mean cranky. The anticipation of “being alone” is almost worse than actually “being alone.”  

I am a bit resentful, even though I try not to show it. I know that a “work” trip does involve “working,” but it is also a suspension of the routine, the “grind.” After having NB I chose to stay at home. There are lots of advantages to being at home, but it is hard to value -- being left behind. I have explained this to M, and I think he “gets it.”   What can be lost on the traveling spouse, however, is this: For the next few days you can concentrate on yourself, your work, and your expense paid meal. You don’t have to cook, clean, or entertain any little people. You have a goal to accomplish, a project to finish, and camaraderie with adults along the way. You may even be visiting a new place, and having a little fun.  I know its “work,” and I am sure I cannot appreciate the pressures and deadlines involved; but it is a “break” too.

The truth is, I would worry if we actually ever stopped complaining about the trips. If we didn’t miss Daddy, then we would have an entirely different problem -- harder to fix.

Having no relatives nearby, this is an example of when the small nuclear family unit really doesn’t fulfill our needs. We live in a neighborhood with friends around, but invitations are needed for a stopover. Besides, they are all spending time with their own families. I really don’t want to intrude. Once M is gone and the initial shock has passed, the boys usually rally. They understand that I am handling everything by myself and eventually appreciate me a little bit more. It’s sweet, really. We fall into balance, on our precarious seesaw. When Daddy comes home that balance gets upset again -- but we find it...eventually.

Actually being “home alone” is more like a fantasy. It reminds be of a scene from the comedy, Date Night, a movie that can only be truly appreciated by married folks with young children. Tina Fey’s character confesses to her husband that her ultimate fantasy is not another man, but being alone in hotel room sipping a soda without having to worry about her husband or children. I have this fantasy too, but it takes place in my own home and with a glass of wine -- eating what I want, reading whenever I choose, listening to music without interruption, watching what I want on TV, going out for whatever reason, and having cupcakes and sushi for dinner -- in that order. I know I would get lonely after a few days, wish for the routine again, even long for my kids raucousness -- but just 48 hours of uninterrupted “aloneness” seems like heaven.  Sometimes, I need to miss my kids too.