A weird and wondrous thing happened this weekend. A tear in the fabric of space/time opened beneath my husband and me. We were whisked away to another dimension that was strangely peaceful, well-ordered, and mood-altering. Disoriented by our fantastic voyage, it took a few minutes to realize what had happened. The kids were gone.
Oh yes, the glories of a good mother-in-law.
Having shuffled my two bundles of chaotic and unending energy up to the grandparents' house and then racing away like mad before grandma realized the folly of her choice to have them for the weekend, I enjoyed the long, calm, hour-and-a-half drive home. I cranked up the radio loud, knowing I wouldn't be interrupted every two minutes with questions about where the cattle go when it rains and what the billboard meant when it read Adult Superstore and why the clouds followed us as we drove? I wasn't responsible for anybody but me. I felt young again.
Upon arriving home, I met my husband at the door and we began laying plans for our 2 day vacation from responsibility. We gleefully rubbed our hands together filled with self-satisfaction at our happy circumstances. It was freeing.
We went out to dinner; we slept late; we played board games in candlelight while drinking sauvignon blanc--not too much. We laughed at each other's dumb jokes and spent 2 days without getting annoyed at, or irritated with, each other. I remembered that we used to have fun every day. Once. A long time ago. Just as a couple. In the BK era. (before kids)
Thanks, MIL, for the break. It was a great time for us. How 'bout we send them up next weekend too?