They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. After my first ever weekend away from Hubbster, The Woo, Foghorn and Bubble, I believe them.
On Thursday, I carefully packed my suitcase with a mixture of excitement and a mild anxiety flitting around in the pit of my stomach. My thoughts were equally disjointed.
“Yay! No cooking all weekend,” quickly turned to “I dread to think what Hubbster will cook for the kids for dinner.”
No sooner had the thought, “Whoopee! Some time to myself,” formed in my head, it was expertly shot down in flames by Mother-guilt and replaced by, “I hope the children don’t get upset and miss me too much.”
Stop freaking out, I sternly told myself (as one does in these situations), everyone will be fine. Hubbster knows what he is doing. Nobody will wear anything that matches all weekend, but it won’t be the end of the world!
After a very busy weekend in Sydney, in which I both managed to work my butt off and have a huge amount of fun, in fabulous company, I was feeling both exhausted and rejuvenated. I had some (much over-due) time to rediscover and reconnect with the ‘me’ beneath the ‘mum.’ I had some time to take stock of not only the things that are important for the health, happiness and wellbeing of the people I love, but also of what is important for mine. (I know! Shocking stuff, eh?)
I was able to focus on my goals and appreciate that motherhood need not mean martyrhood.
I even had time for a glorious bubbly, uninterrupted soak in the bath with a good book! Bliss!
As wonderful and inspirational as this time was though, I admit that on Sunday, when I packed my suitcase there was none of the careful folding and meticulous planning which had gone into my efforts three days previous. I was elated to be going home. I couldn’t wait to see Hubbster at the airport and get home to kiss my sleeping children snuggled up warm and safe in their beds.
Descending the escalator at the airport to collect my suitcase, butterflies were salsa dancing in the pit of my stomach in anticipation. My eyes quickly scanned the sea of waiting people. The parents, the partners and the friends, all coming to greet their loved ones. As I moved towards the luggage carousel I glanced past the drivers holding up their white boards or name cards.
It was then that I spotted his sparkling eyes and wicked grin.
Hubbster had decided to make a little placard of his own. In bold letters were written the words: ‘Princess Jolene ~ Your shit box awaits.’
Who said romance is dead, eh?
Image: Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net