Missing ThemMagda Pecsenye
He gets to take them for three weeks every summer to see family and friends. I keep thinking each year is going to be the last one he’s going to want to be driving around for 21 days in a car with two boys punching each other in the back seat, but he keeps wanting to take all three weeks at the same time.
For the first five or six days, I’m fine. With our usual custody schedule I have them for three days and then they’re with their dad for three days, so a few more days isn’t too hard to get through. But then it starts to sink in. They’re gone, and they won’t be back for two more weeks.
No hugs. No refereeing fights. No snuggling on the couch. No underpants stuffed under the coffee table. No “I’ll make dinner, Mom!”s. No discussions about whatever they’re reading, or speculation about what’s happening on any of our tv shows (Phineas and Ferb, Days Of Our Lives, Supah Ninjas, The Next American Ninja Warrior). No random silliness. No them.
They are having fun, they’re safe, they’re making memories. They don’t mind. But I miss them more than I can say. I try to keep busy. Olympics, work, friends, exercise. Commiserating with other parents whose kids are somewhere else right now. Wine.
I miss them.
Three more days.
Follow her cat on Facebook at Alex the Assassin Cat.
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