Solo

Don took all three kids to Georgia and Alabama this weekend to visit his family.  As much as I love my in-laws and enjoy watching the cousins play, I opted to stay home this time. This isn’t the first extended period I’ve had to myself; last fall I went to an out-of-town conference for a long weekend. But this is the first time in my own house and on my own time.

Friday

Oh no, they’re gone.

What if they’re crying? What if Dee Dee pees in her carseat? What if Sylvia’s too sad without her mom? What if they won’t sleep at Granny and Papa’s and are exhausted and miserable? What if the DVD player stops working and Don is miserable? What if they have an accident... No, I will not think that way.

I told myself I would not spend this precious time cleaning, but look at this house. I won’t enjoy being here unless I clean it up a little. I’ll just tidy up and sweep the floors. I might as well mop, too-- it won’t take long with no one here. And I’ll just clean the bathrooms and change my sheets and unload the dishwasher. There, done! Ugh, look at the front of the oven, all streaked with who knows what. But I will not spend any more of this precious day cleaning. If I clean the oven door, I’ll want to clean the sticky cabinet doors, and the refrigerator handle, and--I know myself-- I won’t stop.  It is after eleven already-- the time is slipping away!

I’m going for a bike ride-- a nice, long bike ride. But it’s almost lunchtime and I’m hungry. I’ll just eat those leftovers quickly and then I’ll go. But, wait, you’re bolting your lunch again! This is exactly how you’re not supposed to be eating this weekend. You’re supposed to take it slow.

But I want to go biking! Quick, eat up! You’ve got to fit in the bike ride now, because you have a massage scheduled for three. Okay, fine, quick-- eat! But next time you’ve got to eat slowly.

Why does my family being gone make me miss my mom so terribly? Mom! Mommy! I miss you.

This country is beautiful. Fields of ripening tomatoes, horses grazing, mountains. I love this, all of it: the effort, the heat, the sweat, the speed, the views, the freedom. I feel strong-- I could bike like this forever. Mommy, I miss you.

Home again. Shower. Snack. Sheets off the line, onto the bed. Better head downtown for that massage. Ahhhhh. Time’s up already? My legs are tired and I’m hungry. Ice-cream! I just took so long deciding on a flavor that the server sat down to wait. Oh, the luxury of time.

Mmmm. Mint goat milk ice-cream. Savor it.

Now, to write...

Time to go again. Friends, dinner, wine, music. If only I could sing like that.

Home at last. How clean the house looks. How empty.  Feed the hungry dogs, lock up, read one page of The New Yorker. Whew. So much today. Tomorrow I will slow down, I promise.

Saturday

Today I:

* emailed my Italian friends that I have not heard from in years.

* signed up on twitter. Why? I thought I might read the news headlines and educational articles, but I’m surely kidding myself.

* ordered a book of Italian short stories with parallel texts, ostensibly to brush up on my Italian, but really because I’m secretly plotting next year’s solo getaway.

* used up all the eggs to make ginger ice-cream.

* wrote. Two days in a row. Halleluiah.

* ran to a our friends’ yard sale. They’re moving to Pennsylvania, where teachers actually make a living wage. Scored, among other things, a pair of little girl’s sneakers, some pirate action figures for Clayton, and a Dora doll the girls will certainly fight over, but I couldn’t resist.

* ate lunch: cheese toast with garden tomatoes and Greek yogurt with blueberries and cardamom. That’s better-- slow. Still found myself getting up multiple times during the meal. It’s a hard habit to break, it seems.

* finally got started on Rebecca for book group. Not too gripping yet, but at least I’ve made it past the first five pages.

* went to the grocery store and talked to my mom on the phone for a few moments in the cereal aisle before the connection was lost. Mommy! I miss you! It’s so easy shopping without three kids in tow, but I do find myself missing the free popcorn.

* unloaded the groceries and made curry. I honestly don’t think I’ve made this dish since Clayton was born. Oh, how subtly they change our lives.

* went for another run. This morning’s twenty minute jog to the yard sale just didn’t feel like enough. Some friends are coming over in less than an hour, but the house is, miraculously, still clean.

* had a marvelous evening with friends. Love, words, tears, inspiration, connection. Just what I needed.

* couldn’t sleep. Too much sugar right before bed, or maybe too much love. Kept thinking about my dear, dear friends and all the resolutions for the new school year that I made tonight.

Sunday

I had plans of going hiking today, or driving up to Graveyard Fields to see if the wild blueberries are ripe, but somehow I couldn’t leave this quiet house. I ate a luxurious breakfast of melted brie on toast with homemade blackberry jam, and nobody asked me for a bite. Even the dogs were still asleep. Then I sat on the porch and wrote a long overdue letter to Chiara, my Italian roommate, and finally got going on Rebecca. Reading novels like that makes me feel sixteen again, when I devoured Jane Austen because I was too proud and too embarrassed to be seen reading Harlequins.  

Around ten o’clock, I thought, I could still go somewhere. Mountain biking, or on a solo hike. Don and the kids wouldn’t be home until close to five. But I drive so much and am home alone so little. Instead I caulked around the bathroom tub and the kitchen sink, and got to cross both off my summer list. Even better, I don’t have to spend the next nine months feeling grossed out by the old, mildewed caulk and wondering when in the hell I’ll get around to redoing it, or how I’ll ever manage, under normal circumstances, not to use the sink while the caulk dries. As soon as I finished, I threw away the summer list, and started a new one.

Leftover coconut milk curry for lunch with green beans from the garden. I admit I appreciate my solitude the most when it’s meal time. One plate to put in the dishwasher, perhaps one pot to wash (this time in the bathroom sink). I linger over every bite. It is ludicrously easy to live alone.

Today, I am feeling buoyant with the love of friends and the powerful connections I felt last night. Impulsively, I head into West Asheville on my bike, not even bothering to check the air in my tires. Today, everything feels so easy. I explore some new neighborhoods, and then find myself pedaling by the houses of two different friends. Neither one is home, but it doesn’t matter. It is like I am weaving a metaphorical web of my community on my bike. At the house of a third friend, her two beautiful children peer excitedly through the screen door. “Someone’s here!” they yell. They are getting ready for their own bike ride, so soon the house is quiet and my friend and I chat together in the living room. We are both excited for the new school year, the familiar routines and the strange new freedoms we will enjoy with kids in preschool part-time.

On my way home, I follow the river. The water is fast and high after all of the rain we’ve had this summer. I stop on a bench and eat melted trail mix while I watch the water and daydream. Peace settles over me, and I think with gladness of my family’s return.  

Home again, I pick green beans and blueberries from the garden, and then treat myself to yet another snack of crackers and goat cheese, plus a little of the ginger ice-cream we never got around to eating at dinner last night. I might have spoiled my dinner, but I treasure my last meal alone. An hour and they will be home. I sit on the porch and write.