You mean I get to LEAVE?!

I'm preparing for a weekend away from my house, husband, and child. Feel free to be jealous, it's ok. I'm almost tired enough to be jealous of myself. I barely know what to think, and I haven't had to pack since I got my stuff together for when the baby came. Four years ago. Are women without a chaperon allowed to travel these days? How very progressive. I swear, I barely remember the rules. Perhaps there's a notice posted in the town square.

In my absence, I expect both The Husband and The Girl to eat too much junk food, stay awake too late, and pretend they like going unwashed just to spite me. Me? I'll be with two of my besties, hanging out in museums and looking sophisticated while shopping for non-souvenir gifts. Then, a giant concert, the details of which I cannot divulge or predict.

It'll be fun, I know, and I'll be selfishly glad to be there with my friends while my family is lonely, hungry, exhausted and dirty at home, patiently (and sadly) awaiting my return. Because that's what they do when I leave, right? It's been so long, I mean when I get home back the grocery store, they appear to have just been having the best hour of their lives. Same thing with tending the garden and just about any time I leave them unattended, which is almost never. I always come in and think, "How sad they must have been without me," and there they are, laughing and rough-housing and playing games. How kind of those two to keep such brave faces on. How will they ever make it through three whole days? Poor dears.