Tis the season of summer camps and sending kids off. It marks a reprieve for parents from the everyday madness, business, tiredness, and overwhelming responsibility of children. It allows parents to celebrate the kids being away.
Except for the divorced parents. At least, except for me.
I only get to see my kids 50 percent of the time. That gives me tons of me time, tons of time with friends, tons of guilt-free late hours at work, tons of kid-free errands. In a way, it's great. My parent self is well-rested and far more patient than I'd ever been as a 100 percent-of-the-time mom.
Here's the thing, though: I miss my kids like crazy in the summer. I get three straight weeks with them, which is AMAZING. But then, they are off to be with their dad, for three straight weeks. Then away at camp for another week. Then some time with grandparents. I now have long evenings of Netflix, knitting, catching up with friends, reading - whatever I want. It sounds like a dream to most parents, but it isn't always.
Some evenings, like tonight, I ache for my girls. At 11 and 13, they still like to hug and to cuddle. I still tuck them in and snuggle up before bed. We still hold hands - intermittently - when we go for walks or run errands. I miss all of that. And their goofiness. Oh my goodness, the laughs we have.
They are not easy all of the time, and we have our struggles, moodiness, disagreements, and squabbles. But I even miss that.
I'd always wanted to be a mom, but I never imagined what a big part of me my children could be. And what a big part of me they take with them when they are away.
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