It was a fantastic weekend. I went to Northern California for a wedding and to catch up with some friends that have sadly fallen away.
I flew from Phoenix to Oakland on Thursday night, and the first thing I was fascinated by was the sky. I grew up in the Bay Area, I was so used to the way the sky was, that I must have never seen it. So I was rather amazed to find that it doesn't get dark in the Bay Area anymore (if it ever did). The combination of fog, smog and city lights, just prevent the sky from ever getting past a muddy brown color.
Where I live now it's "black-dark" (my daughter's words) by 8:30. Unless of course, you count the stars... there weren't any there.
Ok, so sky aside, I had an amazing time. I got to visit with friends, have adult conversations, have adult beverages, partake in adult activities - it was the first time I had travelled on a plane without my children since their conception.
On the flight home, I was feeling really torn. Torn from really enjoying being an unencumbered adult for a few days, and missing my children. I was feeling guilty for having such a good time without them, and perhaps guilty for not missing them enough; for being disappointed that this mini-break had to come to an end and that I would once again be thrown back into the sea of homework, chores, nagging, and putting my wants and needs completely on the back burner.
I'm not a religious person, at all, but whoever created children the way they did knew what they were doing.
As we were reading our homework on Sunday evening. My daughter, A, was reading me her poem book. She read the first poem (my favorite) which says "I am not a crocodile; I am not a bee; I am not a monkey; I am Me!" She showed me the picture of herself she drew with the poem, but she drew herself with long black hair (she's very blond). Her reason? "I wanted to be like you, mommy."
I'm back where I belong.