Day 1, and already I forgot to feed the dog.
That’s what you get for teaching your children to take care of the family pet. When they leave for camp, the poor thing gets ignored.
“Are you going on vacation while the kids are away?” friends and neighbors ask. “A romantic getaway?”
“Better,” I reply. “I’m going to work as much as possible.”
Blank stares. Nervous giggles.
“And spend time with my husband,” I assure them. (I wouldn’t want them to worry.) “Late dinners. Lots of late dinners.”
If you are the female half of a two-working-parent household, especially of the writer/artist/work at home/business owner persuasion, you know what I mean. If you rise at 5 a.m. to run or do yoga because when else would you squeeze in a round of exercise, you get it.
If you have ever thrown in a load of laundry between client calls. Or set a timer during a staff meeting to remind you to put the challah in the oven.
If you have ever ordered manga comics for your son at camp, swapping browser tabs between Amazon and the registration for a webinar you’re running on Thursday. Or put the finishing touches on your company’s cash flow analysis while the nine-year-old explored Google Earth next to you, you get it.
I wouldn’t trade the kids or the dog or the laundry (maybe the laundry) or the challah. And I wouldn’t trade the company or the business partnership with one of my dearest friends. I wouldn’t trade the chaos of post-its and a foam cupcake and a pair of paperclips and hair clips and bar mitzvah notes all over my desk.
Because I’ve never found work as satisfying as this. Because nothing in my life is where I left it yesterday.
Which is why ten empty days without young interruptions sounds so appealing.
Sure I’ll miss them. But not yet.
If I can only remember to feed the dog, all will be well.