It is day two of my mini Momcation. An escape from my full-time occupation of prioritizing everyone else, for some time taking care of the person who is so often at the bottom of the list. I traveled to New York city under the guise of visiting friends, and while I do look forward to adult discourse, dinners, and drinks, I am unequally looking forward to my time spent answering my own question of, “What would I like to do today?” The answer to has presently arrived in the form of a hot latte in my hand and a brisk walk to the river where an empty bench so graciously greeted me.
As I stare out over the water, cherishing my still-hot morning beverage, neither the screaming stereo from the souped up speakers of a nearby Hummer, the abundant refuse floating in the murky water, nor the still slightly frigid winds of an early spring breeze can deter the smile forming on my face. My phone rings. The screen reads “Incoming Call- Home.” Instantly the smile flees. I have options; I could ignore it, I could answer it, I could chuck it into the dirty river water where it would sink to the depths and be lost among the boots and bottles. But then there are the what if’s whispering in my brain. What if there is an emergency? What if the hubby doesn’t know something important? What if I don’t answer and the whole world goes crumbling into pieces? I press the green answer button.
“Hello?”
The what if’s are abated, just a check in call from the hubby. As we chat about activities and appetites I hear the familiar whining voices in the background.
“I want to talk to Mama!” shouts the youngest.
“I want to talk to Mama!” shouts the eldest, twice as loud as the youngest.
“One at a time,” my hubby says, handing the phone to the youngest. The eldest screams in protest about how unfair life is and stomps away, her pounding feet echoing the bass of the nearby Hummer. I take a sip of my latte and sigh.
“Hi Mama,” he squeaks.
“Hi baby.”
“I miss you Mama, I love you,” he says in his pouty-lipped chubby-cheeked little voice.
“I miss you too,” I lie.
He rambles some indiscernible story involving the playground and grapes, tripping over his words, forgetting mid sentence what he was going to say. I mutter uh-huhs and oh-reallys at the seemingly appropriate occasions and hope my latte isn’t getting cold. I try and think of a believable reason to hang up, but my lazy day of city sightseeing fails to provide me with any immediate excuse.
“Mama has to go because she would rather drink her latte in total silence right now than hear what you have to say,” seems like the sort of explanation that will result in an adulthood of therapy bills and rejection issues. I fake my way through the rest of the story.
“I see you soon,” he says giving the phone a hug and a kiss.
“I can’t wait,” I lie again.
When I return home in two days I will relish the cascade of kisses to come. I will listen to each silly serpentine story with rapt attention. I will luxuriate in the warmth of your small sticky palm in my own as we climb the stairs to tuck you in for the night. But at this moment, as the calm flow of my brief independence relaxes my mama muscles, the comfortable silence allows my thoughts to drift into the rarely tread terrain of my own desires, and the assuring knowledge that I have the freedom to flow in any direction I choose for two more days fills my spirit with enough joy to overshadow any sense of longing, no my child, I do not miss you. Not even a little.
D.J. Kramer is a New York transplant currently residing in New Hampshire and pursuing a career as a writer of novels, short stories, and poetry while raising my two children, three dogs, and trying to convince her husband to move the family somewhere warmer. Website:http://djhallnyc.wixsite.com/mysite Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/djkramerwrites/
1 Comment
The house wasn’t on fire and no one was bleeding. Why disturb Mom’s peace?? Ugh.