Get-away mobile.

“What if I just ran away for a week?”  Fleeting thoughts like this creep into my mind when I have had enough under-appreciation.  “I threw away the sandwich you made me for lunch.  It got mushy.” “The steak is overcooked.”  “I’m out of socks.  You need to do laundry.”  Sometimes it’s just too much and I want to runaway like when I was six and tried to live with my best friend.  I told her parents I didn’t like it at home because I had to do work.  I probably had to pick up toys or something traumatic like clearing my plate from the table.  I didn’t think the theme would carry through adult years.

In a sense, I have run away for almost a month now.  It’s disguised as knee surgery. I’ve always wondered how much my family would notice if I quit my job.  I am a fly on the wall at the moment but because I can’t help my absence, I see only compassion and no complaints.  Wow.  I can’t really be disappointed only proud.  I had to ask, “What do you miss most about me not doing my job?”  I wanted to prove to myself, and moms everywhere, we really mean something to our families even if they have a funny way of showing it via whining.

Superhero dad really deserves his cape.  He’s doing all the cooking and grocery shopping.  Cooking is therapy to him so he’s not missing me much.  I’m not missing me much in this area either.  I hope he spends years and years in rehab, say a lifetime.  Super Dad does not however like the grocery shopping.  “Man!  It takes a really long time.”  And he used to wonder why so little was accomplished on my Mondays.

The boys miss the speed at which I could walk.  I find this ironic as I used to be the one in the car revving up the engine, waiting on them.  Or if it was freezing outside, I walked really fast and they seemed to slow with the cold.   Now I walk gingerly and deliberately everywhere I go.  In a fit of impatience, the guys grab the keys, start the car and kick open my car door 20 seconds before I arrive.  It looks straight out of a James Bond movie if you didn’t know better.  My car starts automatically and my door swings open magically too.  I actually wish they were old enough to drive so they could pick me up at storefronts and I could avoid faraway parking spaces.

My BFF.

My older son really thought about my inquiry, overnight.  I picked him up from football and he offers his answer up.  He wanted to miss something about me all by himself.  Turns out, it’s me he misses having to himself.  He didn’t exactly state it that way.  He doesn’t like my temporary BFF, the crutch.  It sits between the passenger and the driver, but more on the passenger side. The crutch is the second to load into the car and thus the passenger positions the darn thing between a super-sized backpack, P.E. sneakers and iphone.  Nice to know he doesn’t want anything between us.

Surprisingly, the family misses more of the little things than the noticeable big jobs.  I suspect if we didn’t have such an enthusiastic chef to replace me, cooking would be number one on the list.  I have to agree with the guys, I miss my hands-free, pace-keeping stride too.  All the things that bring us closer together make a mother sweet for her sweeties in a teenager way.  I like that.

Happy Mother’s Day!