In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990s moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care.
This past weekend, TW and I left the kids with her parents, got on a plane, and went out of town for a couple of days. I hadn't realized how much we needed to do that until we did it.
We love our kids dearly, but sometimes it's healthy to slip out of 'parent' mode. And with the end-of-semester insanity on campus in full swing, the change of scene did some good. We even managed to keep the calls home to a reasonable minimum.
Benefits of leaving the kids at home:
--We went to restaurants that don't even serve chicken tenders.
--Nobody had to be carried when we walked any kind of distance.
--We got reacquainted with our frontal lobes. We went to a huge art museum, and actually got to look at the art! We didn't have to take anyone to the bathroom three times in an hour, and we didn't have to content ourselves with crayon-based activities. We didn't even have to corral anyone from running through the gallery, or listen to variations on "I'm bored!"
--Two plane tickets, rather than four. It adds up.
We love our kids. We really do. They're wonderful, bright, warmhearted, sweet, smart, and charming. But yumpin' yiminy, sometimes you just need a break.
The break didn't last long; at the baggage carousel in the airport when we got back, we got the call that TG had thrown up. We returned to a sick kid, flashing digital clocks from a power outage the day before, and a clogged toilet. Since then, t-ball, doctor's visits, more sickness, and graduation.
It's all fine. But reconnecting with our adult selves was huge.
It gets easier, right?