Four Days

“So can I talk to her now?”

“Sam! Mommy’s on the phone. Are you ready to talk to her?”

…

“She says she doesn’t want to. She’s too busy playing.”

“She said that?”

“Yup.”

“Will you please tell her that I would like to talk to her?”

Silence again. This time I hear some of that high chipper voice in the background.

“Same answer.”

“OK, well, this time don’t ask her. Just hand her the phone.”

…

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Honey! How are you doing?” I can feel my heart oozing into my voice making it sticky.

“Hi, Mom. I’m fine.”

I blabber. What are you doing? Did you have fun at the X and the Y and what did you think of the Z?

“It was fun. OK, Mom. I love you. Bye bye!”

…

“I guess she’s doing all right without me, huh.”

“Yup.”

*******

I almost didn’t go to the writers’ conference in LA this summer. There were a few reasons for my hesitation, most of them having to do with the expense, but there was one Big One that squatted on my heart, shifting its weight from time to time:

Since Sammy’s birth, I had never been away from her overnight.

Now I understood that this was not a reason not to go. I understood that it had nothing to do with reason. All the reasonable questions had been answered. AC would take a couple of days off of work to take care of Sam. This would give them a chance to do some father-daughter bonding activities, like camping and eating cake for breakfast. At nearly 4 years old, Sam is already starting to separate from me and her father, on her way to figuring out who she is, keenly interested in the idea of independence. I believe they call this individuation.

I call it laceration. But that’s just because I felt like I was leaking organ fluid all over Oakland airport when AC and Sam dropped me off last Thursday.

In the days leading up to this trip everyone who had an opinion (and that was just about everyone I talked to) assured me that Sam would be fine. I suspected as much. We had prepared her. She was looking forward to the time with her father. And when the awful goodbye came, she hugged me and said “Bye, Mommy!” And she never looked back.

I, of course, looked back.

So the question was, would I be fine? There was some variety of opinion. “Oh you’ll love it!” “You’re going to be lonely.” “It’s going to be very, very quiet.” “The time will fly.”

Feeling horribly off-kilter, I lurched through the airport. I felt like I was missing something. A hand was supposed to be tugging at mine. A non-stop chattering voice was supposed to be at my ear. There were supposed to be more bags. I had too many hands. I moved too fast. I felt like a monster.

(For old time’s sake, though, I set off the airport security alarm. Curse that metal barrette.)

Watching families with small children was torture. Actually, that’s not true. Watching families with small, well-behaved children was torture. Watching families with screamers was just as it usually is: thank heavens that’s not me! There was an adorable little dark-haired girl waiting at my gate with her mother and grandmother. She would have to be about Sam’s age. And she would have to be adorable and impish and curious. But is Sam taller than she is? I think the girl’s face is rounder. OK, so she’s a little younger than Sam. And the other girl’s hair is longer. Or is it? Is it? IS IT?

I can’t remember how long my daughter’s hair is and it’s been only 30 minutes!

I’m worse than a monster. I’m an unnatural mother. Mothers are not supposed to leave their children overnight. Mothers are not supposed to forget their child’s hair length. Mothers are not supposed to go gallivanting off to writers’ conferences in sunny LA for four days.

Clearly I needed to be slapped. Luckily a screamer came along. (Thank heavens that’s not me!)

And the screamer reminded me of something useful.

The screamer reminded me of all the times over the past three years I’ve said to AC, “I need Rancho Relaxo.”

Rancho Relaxo is the spa-resort that Marge Simpson goes to after snapping one day under the unreasonable pressure of being mother to three demanding kids and one demanding, idiotic husband.

As said idiot puts it to baby Maggie, “Mommy went crazy and went far, far away.”

I’ve wanted Rancho Relaxo. There have been days when I really needed it. And here I was, on my way to LA and my very own hotel room, and I was pining for home.

I really was crazy.

And the crazy part was not that I was missing my child. Missing someone who is an important part of daily life is not crazy. I also missed AC, but I didn’t have all sorts of crazy energy surrounding that feeling. No, the crazy cuckoo part was the part of me that missed being needed by my child… that wanted to be tugged at and pulled at and driven up a wall. The crazy part confused need with love. The crazy part wondered if she doesn’t need me today, will she still choose to love me tomorrow?

So there I was all alone in the airport and no one needed me to do anything.

There I was all alone in the airport and no one needed me to do anything!

A shift occurred. The shift occurred when I remembered that I had a book and that I especially like to read when no one needs me to do anything.

I opened the book and got on the plane and had four wonderful days at Rancho Relaxo.

Though it was more Distracto than Relaxo. The writers’ conference kept me very busy. There was a lot of information to absorb and a whole new cabal of crazy-making thoughts took up residence in my brain.

I loved it. I was lonely. It was very, very quiet. And the time sure did fly.

Indeed, by the second night I had completely adapted to my new routine, which included: writing, learning about the world of publishing, showering everyday, participating in conversations that had nothing to do with toilet habits or table manners or why it’s not a good idea to stick a kazoo in your ear.

Turns out I liked being away. And so now the question was, how will I re-adapt to my mom life? Marge Simpson leaves Rancho Relaxo early, having exhausted all of the spa’s relaxing activities. She emerges fresh and ready to be needed once again. Despite having showered every day, I wasn’t feeling particularly fresh. Maniacally inspired might be the word. Inspired to spend more time on the writing craft. Uncertain of how I was going to wring more time out of my busy days. And not sure I was ready to be needed again.

Four days is all that took. Unnatural mother.

And then I strolled out of the airplane cord into the terminal. The walk to baggage claim was longer than I remembered. I wondered if Sam and AC would already be there. What would Sam be wearing? Would she be smiling? How long would her hair be? Would it be combed? I kinda hoped that it wouldn’t be combed.

I walked faster, reveling in my monstrous speed. My too many hands were ready.

I saw them at the bottom of the ramp. Sam was curled up in her father’s arms. I was there in two strides. Sam turned toward me, sleepy, bleary, crusty-mouthed from drool, and she came into my arms just like that.