My son is at sleep-away camp for FOUR WHOLE DAYS and I’m totally blowing it!
Isn’t this what I dreamed of since the day I was wheeled into an OR and the anesthesiologist said, “Congratulations. You’re not pregnant anymore!”
FOUR whole mom days off! Bart and I are empty-nesters! Except we’re not 105 and living on a fixed income like we will be when we’re truly empty-nesters. But still, I had four days to live free and unencumbered by the mental load of motherhood! I will stay up late or maybe go to be early. I will watch my shows uninterrupted instead of having to passive-aggressively hit pause and give someone THE STARE. I will eat the secret stash of good chocolate brazenly the middle of the living room, while shouting, OMG why are Butterfingers so good??? No more hiding! No more doing anything for anyone! I’m liberated and living THE LIFE.
Except I’m not.
And I don’t even want to.
Unless “the life” is that of a sad, broken, husk of a woman who spends all day watching her son’s baby videos and rehanging clothes in his closet. Turns out you cannot take the mom out of the mom even when she’s not actively momming. If my mom brain was a pasta it would be fusilli because it’s always spiraling! Just spiral spiral spiral right into the pits of hell!
I realize I’m making this “camp” sound like the ones bad kids were carted off to in the middle of the night by fake kidnappers who forced them live in some arctic village and learn lessons. My son’s camp is actually a beautiful nature-based education camp located on an island where all of the fifth graders at his school get to attend. They also host weddings. (The camp, not the fifth graders, although how bonkers would a wedding hosted by fifth graders be?) The kids sleep indoors in rooms with private bathrooms and beds outfitted with provided linens. They eat three meals a day plus snacks prepared by chefs. I’ve heard nothing but great things about this magical, transformative camp. How little lives change after four dreamy days outside crossing suspension bridges, taking solo hikes, and learning about the many different insects who live in a bog. That coupled with the vistas, bonding with friends, leaving your mom crying in the cafeteria while you lug the giant duffel she packed for you into a U-Haul— that’s the stuff of formative memories right there.
No one is more surprised by how badly I’m taking this than I am and believe me, a lot of people are surprised! Even my anxiety woke up this morning like, “Wait, what? This is the assignment today? I thought it was Thanksgiving dessert recipes and spider vein treatments.” You guys, I’m an introvert. A social creature who loves being alone. It’s my jam. How I “recharge” according to Myers-Briggs. So the thought of having HOURS every day of solitude and independence surely should delight me! And yet… yet, I’m so confused. Just pacing my house like a sad, caged mama puma who lost her will to eat her young.
I couldn’t even dump his breakfast Nutella toast in the compose bin after he left.
Wait. Is that a cheeseball next to the Nutella toast, Shelly???
Yes, it is! I found it under his chair and am putting it in his baby book!
He has a baby book??? I thought you never got around to doing that, Shelly!
He will by the time he comes home!
I filled my day texting other sad moms and complaining about why we’re not getting updates from the school. Can you believe they won’t tell us anything???? Did anyone hear about a school bus that fell into the Puget Sound? NO? Great! Guess they got there okay! Why won’t they give us just a little update? Like one photo for their Instagram feed!
Not to be all hyperbolic and shit but I just feel unsettled. Like I’m missing an actual piece of me. Oh god what’s happening to me? Is the “missing piece” the piece that made me salty and likable? I can’t stop rolling my eyes.
Then blessedly, the dad of one of my son’s best friends who happens to be a chaperone dropped some intel on our group text at 9:44 PM.
OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG Be cool, Shelly! Don’t let him know you’ve been refreshing your texts every sixteen seconds!
So I waited thirty-three seconds before writing back something like:
MY BABY!!!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!! IS HE WARM???? IS HE HUNGRY????? DOES HE KNOW HIS BOOTS ARE IN A COMPARTMENT IN THE BOTTOM OF HIS DUFFLE BAG???? PLEASE CAN YOU RECORD HIM BREATHING?????? GIVE HIM ALL THE KISSES AND TELL HIM MOMMY LOVES HER BABY BEAR SOOOOOOO MUCH!!!!! MOREMOREMOREMORE!!! HOW ABOUT A PICTURE?????
Bart said THAT is why the school won’t email us. Give us an inch, we’ll take an update every fifteen minutes complete with slide show and captions, please.
I’m failing at de-momming and I know I will regret not taking advantage of these precious “days off” while my kid is safe and likely happy at a luxury wilderness camp. He’s with his best friends. The weather is great. The chef is making spaghetti tonight.
Why can’t I just enjoy it?
But Shelly…
Oh fine. I do know the answer. It’s because you’re never not a mom once you become a mom. I mean, obviously! Even I know that. I don’t have to be making someone ramen or stepping on a LEGO or figuring out what appliances we can sell to afford braces. I AM STILL A MOM even when I’m 17.1 miles from my baby. Moms can’t not mom. We mom all the live long day. Spiraling and mommin’ our little mom faces off!
I know I’m lucky. I know there are parents who live with non-hyperbolic missing pieces of themselves forever because unspeakable, unimaginable things happen. I know that if all goes according to plan by the time some of you read this, my son will be home, eating McDonald’s, watching YouTube shorts at max volume, leaving garbage all over the house, and screaming into Discord with the same friends he spent the last four days in the woods with. I know I’ll be in my office trying to work, getting hit in the back of the head with a foam basketball and imploring my child to please take a shower and find his library books and then I’ll complain about how nobody in this house can throw a piece of toast crust away while throwing the piece of toast crust away.
I’ll fantasize about what it would be like to have four days alone and all the amazing things I will do with my free time. And then I’ll feel guilty for thinking that so I’ll play some 1 v 1 hallway basketball and make thirty slow motion videos of his jump shot and take him to the drug store to buy a bunch of football cards. But why the hell? Because I’m a mom and I gotta mom and that's what this mom does.
Before signing off I’d like to extend a very warm welcome to all the Bravo fans who A. enjoyed last week’s essay on BravoCon and B. are joining us here at Middle-Aged Lady Mom because of it! Welcome! As Dorinda Medley would say, I MADE IT NICE FOR YOU!
XO,
Shelly