Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
Livin' the dream
Dear Reader, welcome to the summer holidays of 2011. Grab a nice tall glass of lemonade, iced tea, a beer - pick your poison - and let me tell you all about what I've done with my holidays so far.
My holidays officially began on Canada Day, which I had hoped to celebrate in true Canadian style - at a friend's backyard pool party, watching my girls swim till they had fins, catching up with friends, oohing and ahhing over fireworks. Instead I invoked Christmas time by giving myself a red nose that would outdo Rudolph. A summer cold hit me full force, knocking me flat and putting me through two and a half boxes of tissues. My girls had to make do with sparklers we purchased at the local petrol station, and were disappointed that the Canada flag tattoos they'd applied so carefully in the morning were to go unnoticed and uncelebrated.
Things quickly turned around, however. The three of them jumped into the van the next morning, and after many tearful goodbyes (well, from the two older ones at least. They clung to me hard and fast, blubbering how they didn't want to go, and added ten minutes to departure time. My five-year old was happily buckled into her seat asking her father if they were there yet) they tootled off to Grandma and Grandpa's in Perth. They've been there ever since.
Every mother out there is, right at this moment, heaving a sigh and saying “How on earth did you manage that?” I'm not even sure. My husband arranged it all, I was told about it the night before they left, and here I am.
Ah, holidays. I've slept in slightly later than usual. I've eaten when I'm hungry. I've watched TV two nights in a row, now. I even watched a movie in the middle of the afternoon, one day last week when the cold threatened to return. I've napped. I fell asleep in the hammock on my side porch yesterday, at 5:30 p.m. Unthinkable! That's dinner prep time! The height of the witching hour! And I slept through it! I woke with a sleepy grin around ten to seven, staggered inside and popped a frozen dinner of chinese chicken and cashews into the microwave, plopped on the sofa and watched the special features disc from the DVD I'd watched the night before. A movie I didn't get to see in the theatre, but it has been released on DVD in the past year!
Just so you don't think I'm a total sloth, during my kid-free time I have completely emptied and cleaned one daughter's room, painted a dresser, a nightstand, and completely gutted and painted another daughter's room, hoping to have it just right when they arrive home. I have caught up with friends, spending all day Saturday traveling about the countryside visiting and going out for meals. One friend called one night last week and asked, if I wasn't busy, would I like to go shoe shopping with her? I didn't have to arrange a sitter, I didn't have to check times, I didn't have to make a meal, I just popped in the car and went. We even went to see a film afterward! A grown-up film! My hubby and I went to a film the following night, too. Two films, in the cinema, two nights in a row!
Surely this is what heaven is like, right?
Well, if it is, I don't want any part of it. I want my kids home. We chat every day on the computer, morning and evening. I see their faces, I hear about what they did during the day, we catch up. But sitting there, watching them on the screen, my fingers tingle as they yearn to touch this one's cheek, ache to tuck that one's stray curl behind her ear. My nose fancies it can smell them, that mix of sunscreen and kid-sweat. Hearing them, seeing them, pretending I can touch them, our computer chats seem most satisfying. As soon as I've clicked the little X to log off, however, my heart plummets and I am alone with a black screen.
My blood pressure is remarkably stable as I haven't hollered at anyone in over a week. I've gotten lots done. The only one I've really had to pick up after is myself (Brian has managed to leave his socks lying around just so I don't feel totally bereft of all household management duties) and I have discovered that I am quite willing to leave a mess if I am the one who created it in the first place. I am not in any way lonely, but I am alone, and it doesn't suit me well. Not when organized chaos is my normal way of being.
The day I am writing this is my 14th wedding anniversary, and Brian is working, the girls are away, and I will celebrate with some hot dogs and a tomato salad. Hoo ha.
I suppose it could be said I am living every woman's dream - some alone time, time to catch up, get ahead, do anything I like. I'm very grateful for this opportunity, of course, but I have realized that I really didn't require the break! I want my nutty, crazy, messy, loud household back. I want to sing lullabyes at bedtime. I want to break up fights. I want to cook proper meals. I want to be bugged about there being nothing to do. I want them home.
Of course, part two to this little epistle will come at the end of the summer when I've spent eight weeks of 24-7 with the little darlings. I ask, dear reader, for you to supply a gentle reminder of all I've said here…
