kid free | Good Times with Jess

I usually spend every weekend with my kiddos. I don’t try to, it’s just life, unless something extraordinary happens. And all of sudden there are three extraordinary things in a row.

First there was a family wedding on the Cape, kids weren’t invited. BYE!

Now there’s a friend getaway this weekend.

Then a different friend group going away next weekend.

And while it’s not ideal to have two friend weekends away in a row, especially after a wedding weekend away, I’m not saying no!

Bye! Bye! And bye again!

The best part of being away is sleeping all night and into the morning without any needy people.

RB is queen of the 4am shoulder tap to let me know she needs to go to the bathroom. She doesn’t require any support aside from wanting to share her experience.

At 4am I’d rather not share any experiences.

The morning of the wedding, I luxuriate in my morning aloneness. Captain meanders out eventually,

“I’m sorry I slept so late.”

Nothing to be sorry about! There were no blood curdling war cries from our children.

We are well into school and are knee deep in activities. RB marched out of swimming very happy.

“I told my teacher I’m 5 and that I’m in kindergarten.”

“Really?”

“Am I?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Almost five. In pre-k. And on a tear.

Mornings are a lottery. Today she demanded one small braid with a green clip, one pig-tail on the right with a pink, furry scrunchie and the hair on the other half of her head just down. I asked,

“Are you sure?”

“YES.”

I put the finishing touches on her wacko hairdo.

She admired herself in the mirror, let out a cackle and said,

“I look like a villain!”

“A villain?!” Does she even know what she’s talking about? “What’s a villain?”

She looks at me like I’m the odd ball,

“You know. Like in the movies.” She slides a pair of sunglasses onto the collar of her shirt and she’s ready.

As far as I’ve been told, my little villain is a somewhat quiet character at school.

The other day at dinner, BB ponders her sippy cup and asks,

“Do 8-year olds drink from sippy cups?”

“Depends on the 8-year old.”

Any item on our kitchen table goes flying at any point. BB has a knack for inadvertently flinging everything everywhere. After a routine breakfast of toast with Nutella it is not uncommon to find chocolate on her ankles, ears, chair rungs, and the wall.

Whole strawberries, pieces of chicken, green beans find cover under my table. BB knows they’ve gone missing, she just can’t be bothered to chase them down.

Liquids are the most exciting. A flying fork does not send me running, but a full chocolate milk sloshing across the dinner table is hard to ignore.

I understand that I’m raising BB to go out into the world without me and if all goes well she will drink from a cup.

I said ok to no sippy cup with a two-spill waiver clause. After two spills, we go back to a sippy. Also I’ve been giving her the shortest, fattest, heaviest glasses we have.

They may not withstand a solid arm swipe across the table, but so far they’ve held up to a few rogue elbows.

Three weekends worth of messes, hair-dos and activities that are not my problem.

And if RB thought she looked like a villain today, I can’t wait to see what she looks like after she gives her hair requests to Captain.

Bye!

Can’t go wrong with a little wedding swag!

Heaven!

I’ve arrived.

Nothing like waking up in my own home without my children, knowing they’re having the most wonderful time at their grandmother’s. They survived on donuts, Thai food, McDonald’s and ice cream. And no need to share toys because Grandma has two dollhouses.

Captain walked in the door and we were able to finish every conversation we started. I woke up at 6am out of habit, rolled over and didn’t make a peep until 7:30am. This was vital considering we were planning to stay up past 9pm.

The kids weekend away was out of the blue. Captain and I didn’t have anything planned and it didn’t occur to me until a friend asked,

“What are you going to do?”

What WAS I going to do?

It didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, it would be glorious. The highlight being sleeping late and waking up to peace.

A whole two days of peace.

No screaming over who goes down the stairs first. No screaming because their two hot chocolates aren’t completely even. No screaming because someone looked at someone.

If parental love is measured out in the number of marshmallows each child gets in their hot chocolate, then my kids are evaluating my love with as much precision as their counting skills allow. RB doesn’t stand a chance.

Days before our weekend of bliss I ask Captain,

“Should we go into Boston?”

The thirty minute drive from the burbs might as well be the trek of a lifetime.

Captain ponders this momentous idea,

“We could.”

And we do. We park in our old parking garage. It’s nostalgic in a way like:

‘It’s so nice we don’t have to park here anymore.’

We wander through the seaport where I used to wander with baby BB in her sling, but it looks nothing like it used to look. Shiny new buildings are EVERYWHERE.

Around 7pm we walk into a shiny new building for a game of mini-golf. All ages of people are playing. Captain starts with a hole in one and then not realizing it’s a digitalized game, moves my ball to try to help me, but that adds a shot to my score. I was doomed. But who cares about winning?

I do. I didn’t come all the way in from suburbia to hand this game over.

We have a bite to eat. All ages of people disappear and we’re left with twenty somethings. Captain gazes around at the couples. He says,

“They have no idea that in ten years they’ll be living in the suburbs.”

I glance at one young woman displaying a grimace of disdain as her date returns to her. I don’t have my money on them.

We head for mini-golf round two. Captain and I scan the crowd for anyone close to our age. Captain almost shouts,

“See that guy? Gray hair and glasses?”

Yes! And his wife is yawning. I’m with you girlfriend. I didn’t know that a 9pm mini-golf game would finish around 11pm. But it was worth it because I won the second round.

If my children have taught me anything, winning matters, especially when your immediate family is involved.

I was also surprised to feel content with being middle age. There’s peace in my life, even when the kids are home, that didn’t exist in my twenties. Or at least that’s the conclusion I came to after spending a mini-golf game listening to the bravado of “Soupie” and “Sheppie.”

Sheppie said to Soupie or maybe the other way around,

“My second cousin is hot. I mean it. I’m really attracted to her, but she’s getting married next month.”

These are the quality conversations I’ve been missing since I stopped bartending.

The weekend worked out so well for everyone that we put another one on the books for April. Captain and I will go out in Boston again, aiming for the 5pm-9pm window.

I don’t know what we’ll do, but I’m going to win. I mean have so much fun!