I recently embarked on a week long journey across the county.  I was delighted to attend the conference for work, but secretly was almost more excited to have the chance to fly alone.  No fruit snacks to dole out, no scrambling to find lost markers, no finding the exact-correct-scene-in-the-movie-they-were-watching-before-but-had-to-stop-because-we-are-too-busy-and-they-were-alas-interrupted?


I read Vogue.  I gazed out the window.  I reviewed the articles in preparation for the conference.  I edited a story.  I laughed at the SkyMall products.  I bought another coffee during the layover.  I sat.

When my flight home was cancelled due to an anticipated historic blizzard, I could hear the desperation in my husband’s voice.  He is, in fact, a most fabulous father, but single parenting for an entire week straight will drive any sane person to the brink.

I managed to catch what was most likely one of the last flights leaving the east coast.  I had a fantastic book to read, but decided to simply close my eyes instead.  I conversed with my passengers.  I took pictures of the sunset out the window.  I had a cocktail at a sit-down dinner during my layover.  I sat.


Upon my arrival, Vivienne screamed in delight, jumped up and down, and reached her little arms up for me to pick her up.  Lily, sick and feverish, nestled next to me and told me about her favorite parts about the sleepover with their grandmother.

Vivienne looked older.  Lily’s bottom two teeth had started to come in.  What happens in a week, when you are away?

Over the weekend, we snuggled, drank milk shakes, read books, worked on the shrinky-dink-jewelry-kit and fake-nail-kit I brought home for them while Jake went skiing.  After bedtime, he wined and dined me and we kept each other entertained during a hilariously hideous action film.

This alone time I was granted?  This love waiting for me?

Soak it up.  All of it.

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