I’m supposed to travel tomorrow to a conference that I’ve been looking forward to all year. I’ll spend one day immersed in writing, two days immersed in bloggers and one day wandering a new city all on my own. Bliss right? Well, yes, once I get there.
For now, I’ve spent days laundering and packing not just myself but my children for the week vacation they will begin the day before I arrive home. It’s not that The Husband couldn’t handle the task. It’s just this strange guilt I feel when I travel that compels me to handle as many of “my” tasks at home before I leave. It’s weird and totally uncalled for. You can bet when The Husband has a work trip he doesn’t pre-make coffee or empty trash days ahead of time. And of course, I don’t mind that he doesn’t. I would never expect him to cover what he’s missing when he’s not here.
So why then do I expect it of myself? Why do I run around like a chicken with my head cut off for days before hand making sure not only I’m ready to go but that this house can run as if I’m still here? Ridiculous. Add to that the fact that almost every single time I travel someone gets sick before I leave. Last night I laid in the bed of my four year old as he woke every twenty minutes writhing in stomach pain. I almost loaded him up for the ER but I could actually hear the gas bubbles rumbling inside him so I just decided to ride it out at the foot of his bed with a Care Bear for my pillow. He’s peacefully sleeping as of right now so I hope we’re out of the woods. If not, I’ll nurse him by day, pack through the night and then look forward to the peace that only a five hour flight can gaurantee.
All the pre-trip madness almost makes me want to cancel the entire thing and never try again. Then I think of a run and yoga next to the Pacific Ocean and no housework or children for four days and…
Well, I said almost didn’t I?
P.S. Looking for more parenting guidance and tips for self-care? Check out From Chaos to Calm a guided training to help you feel better in this tough season.