My children are on their second jaunt to "Camp Grandma". The first occurred during my jet-setting. (In the space of four months I went to London, Atlanta, Chicago, and New York. Who you calling BORING, huh???) Yesterday, the urchins left with their grandparents for a brief trip - we'll see them Friday afternoon. One would have thought that they were being shipped to the country for their safety. I'm not complaining: I can't remember a time, even during the sweet toddler years, that I've felt such affection and attention from them. I also can't help but wonder if I'm raising them to be too dependent on me and their dad. Of course I want them to fly....but my gut tells me that they need stability and assurance at this point, so I am encouraging and push a bit, but also return their love.
The minute they left I was expected at a staff retreat. We sat outside in the hot. Still, there was a breeze, it was poolside at a lovely in-town home with a gorgeously landscaped yard, and there was lemonade and watermelon along with catty asides and frustrations (and occasional problem-solving, too).
So obviously when that was over, I left and fled to the gym since I never get to go during the summer. No parking! ANYWHERE! WTF?????
Then, I went home thinking I'd go for a walk -- the temp had cooled. But there was nausea, and pain, and I spent the rest of our first night of alone time in a fetal position waiting for my doctor to call in a round of antibiotics. My dear husband drove me to an all-night pharmacy at 11 p.m. I fell asleep in the car waiting for him and promptly had a nightmare that I was driving and the brakes went out. Honey, if you're reading, I promise we will go out tonight to somewhere more fun, and possibly less expensive than the Cipro was!