Posted by The Wizzle | Posted on Saturday, December 25, 2010 at 5:45 PM
It's Christmas night.
All traces of the many hours spent lovingly wrapping each gift have been relegated to their respective rubbish bins. All the much-loved, beautiful new gifts are put away. The roof is bare of lights. The tree is slated for takedown tomorrow.
We are unusually on-the-ball because tomorrow evening, David and I are leaving for London, along with my parents and my sister and her husband, for a week.
Without my kids.
I am unequivocally ecstatic to be going, and I surely do need the break. As I explained to Devlin this afternoon, no vocation - no matter how delightfully, beautifully fulfilling - is welcome 24 hours a day, seven days a week, every moment for the rest of one's natural life. It makes perfect sense, because it is true. I value my marriage as much as I value my children, which is a very great amount. And this trip will be very good for me and my man.
My kids are staying at Granny and Grampa Dixon's Palace of Childhood Recreation and Neverending Patience. They will have a whole playroom to themselves, a basketball court, friends and cousins to play with, and all the story time any child could ask for.
But I keep thinking: who else will know that Devlin likes his sandwiches with only the bread toasted, and the insides cold?
Who will translate Iris's many demands into modern English?
How will they get by for a whole week without hearing the special Jingle Bells they love so much, or the "squirrel song", or Boom Boom Went the Mighty Volcano?
Will they miss me too much?
Will they not miss me at all?
This last day is the worst, when I'm trying to anticipate everything all of us could possibly need over the next week. They know we're going but they don't yet know that they're probably trading up to stay with their grandparents. They can't conceive that Granny knows way more awesome kid songs that I do, or that Gramps can build even bigger, better Snap Circuits than Daddy. They can only dream of the pizza, macaroni, and pigs in blankets yet to be eaten, the lush backyard with scooters beckoning, the mountains upon mountains of doll clothes.
I know they're going to be fine. I know I'm going to be fine. Better than fine.
But I will have three little holes in my heart that just won't close until I'm home safe and sound, the second of January, with my arms full of juicy, curly babies and my family all together again.