Even daycare needs a break. Who can blame them–I go nuts with one kid. Our daycare providers take care of eight. The surprising thing is not that they run off to Brazil for two weeks every summer, but that they come back.
Lucky for us, we’ve got fairly flexible jobs that allow the Mr. and I to play hot potato with Sally during daycare closure. Even luckier for us? Delusional grandparents who think having a kid in the house for days will be fantastic. As I speak, Sally is with my parents. For three nights. As she so eloquently put it, the Mr. and I are, “going to boring work” while Sally “gets to swim and paint my nails and play all the times [sic] and sleep with the dog.”
She loves the grandparents more than us. Anyway, while Sally is gallivanting at Camp Spoiled Rotten, Mr. Embee and I are at home. If you have not known this secret escape that is being in your house without your kid, I’ll sum it up for you: it’s weird.
The first night I sat on the couch and kept looking at the clock. I didn’t know what to do. I knew there were 17,000 things I could do, but I’m severely out of practice at choosing things for myself. Usually someone is requesting milk or needs a dress put on Cinderella or is about to melt down because she can’t make the eyeballs on her drawing the same size. Without Sally here, if I say “I’m going to do dishes” . . . I just do dishes. Nobody complains. Nobody foils my plan. I don’t have to talk like a frog as part of a play at the same time. Honestly, it’s kinda boring.
I’ll say it: I miss her! I peeked in her room on night two, for no reason, and the Mr. said “she’s not there,” and I was like “don’t make me cry!”
I know, you want to throttle me right now. I have three nights sans child and I’m complaining about it. I’ll wait while you get out your tiny violin. Don’t worry, we’re making use of our time. We’ve gone out to dinner. I organized photos. I left the house for work in the morning without having to partake in an Italian opera. We’re planning to go to the movies. (In a theater. At night. Where there’s popcorn. Did you know that capital “R” at the movies means only grown-ups are in there? Kuh-RAY-zy!)
Mr. Embee agrees it’s a little odd to be here without Sally but he adds “it’s just like it was before her.” To which I grab him by the shirt collar and growl “You idiotic man — don’t you know I’m an amnesiac regarding all things before childbirth? My brain is warped! I’m an addict without her dealer! I’m the government without a war! I am a host organism without its parasite!” Then the Mr. gets a beer and turns on the TV.
Tomorrow I’ll go pick her up. She’ll have to pee three times on the way home and will complain that whatever I’m making for dinner sounds really yucky and can we please have pasta. All will be right in the world again.