My plan this weekend was to not only physically remove myself from my home life, but, for the most part, mentally as well. With a turned-off phone, the only way to reach me would be to call my sister or phone the hotel. That’s too much trouble, nowadays, so I would essentially be unreachable. It would be up to me to decide when it was convenient to call home.

But it’s day three of my excursion and the only time my phone and I were not available was when I was 30,000 feet in the air. Immediate fail! 

As expected, it’s my son who has attempted to make contact most often. Ever since he learned how to use a phone years ago, he has been the one to call or text me more than anybody else. Once when I camped for a night with Maddie’s brownie troupe, he called me four times before 8:00a.m. I think he was five.

It’s kind of a love/hate thing for me. I love that he misses me, but I also wish I could get away for a couple of hours without that pull from my kids. I don’t necessarily want to handle his requests when I’m out running errands, but I kind of love knowing he’s thinking about me, even though the context is most often assistance on my part. Mostly I want some peace, though. I really ought to “forget” my phone more often.

My first night away this weekend, I noticed I had several missed calls from my son. He had been trying to reach my husband, without success. He needed a ride home from soccer practice. He could ride his bike, but after a full day (and week) of school and a ninety-minute practice, the straight-uphill ride home wasn’t very appealing. So there he was, trying and waiting. And then he called me. I’m not sure what he was expecting. I am in another state. But to appease him, I made the same phone call attempts he did, also unsuccessfully. I knew that would happen. Oh, well. I just told him he might have to ride his bike after all. Soon after our conversation, he made contact with my husband. He didn’t need me in the end, and I couldn’t help him anyway. I had to let it go.

Maddie is quite self-sufficient emotionally. That’s part of autism–a certain type of self-containment. She doesn’t rely on anybody else to make her happy. She is perfectly capable of that herself, most of the time. And that is a wonderful quality. She creates her own happiness.

When I kissed her goodbye very early Friday morning, she did say, “I wish you weren’t going.” But she said goodbye without any more of a fuss and gave me one of her excellent hugs. And I haven’t heard from her since. I’m sure she and Minecraft are having a very good time together.

Late Friday night, an unfortunate realization slapped me on the forehead out of nowhere. My son had a soccer game at noon Saturday, and I had forgotten to get his uniform. I forget those things sometimes. I will remember your name and your phone number (and the number to the pediatrician and the taco shop), who starred in that show from the 70s that I never even watched, basketball stats, what I ate that time 11 years ago when we went to that restaurant, etc. But it’s pajama day at school? Oh. I forgot until I saw all those kids at school in their pajamas. I really ought to write stuff down.

So there I was, late Friday night, knowing there might be a big problem at home. And there was nothing I could do about it. That’s a bad feeling. But I thought to myself, My husband is at home. He can figure it out. I didn’t call or text. I just let go of the worry, knowing it would either get resolved or not, and I didn’t have to bear the burden. And you know what? My husband came through Saturday morning. Soccer uniform procured. Son happy. All was well. I do wonder, though, how much grief I would have gotten upon my return if that hadn’t worked out so well. Actually I don’t wonder at all. I know. I would be reminded over and over. Such is my life.

My phone is still on. It feels too weird to be completely unavailable. I love my family. I want to hear their voices. I want to get a friendly hello text. I want to know how the soccer game went (not very well, apparently). I want a few days freedom, but I don’t want to let go quite THAT much. So far I think I’m letting go just enough. It’s a good exercise for all of us. I am still learning that life can go on without my immediate participation, and the kids are learning that too.

I’ve never had a 13-year-old and a 15-year-old before. It’s an interesting time for all of us. I both want to not be needed so much, and sort of mourn when my efforts to make that happen succeed. I yearn for my kids to be self-sufficient, and I’m nostalgic for the early years, when my babies were still practically part of me. I can’t imagine doing the baby thing again (I’m too tired), but that closeness is something I treasured so much.

Really, though, the closeness is still there. It’s just different. I love my kids not just because they’re mine, but because of the people they are becoming. I appreciate their humor, I admire their bravery and strength, I love their creativity in its various forms, I love their kindness and perceptiveness. I love the questions they ponder, their passions, their curiosity. I put up with their stubbornness, and even wish I had more of that. I still think they’re adorable when they’re sleeping. I miss them when I’m gone.

But it’s good to be gone sometimes. We are all OK. Life is good. I’ll both be happy to be home and and dreading of the week to come, wondering how it’ll all go down. For now, though, I will enjoy my little weekend adventure. And I will know my family is surviving–even thriving–without me.