It was a twist of fate, really—my unexpected 45 hours of solitude. Initially, I was set to drive my niece, along with her newborn, to visit her father, my brother-in-law, in Nashville. But plans changed dramatically, and I found myself suddenly free. I canceled the dog’s boarding and bath, my 8-year-old was already at her grandparents’, and I waved goodbye to my husband as he left for his business trip.
In that moment, it felt as if the heavens opened up, angels sang, and a vibrant rainbow of karma danced through the air.
I was completely alone.
Completely alone in the house, without anyone calling out my name or asking me where their socks were or when dinner would be served. I could indulge in all the TV shows I wanted—none of which would feature aliens, John Wayne, or wars. I no longer had to hastily flip through children’s channels to ensure little Tommy wouldn’t catch a glimpse of iCarly or Scooby-Doo. I could let the television run all night, with infomercials blaring at 3 a.m., and snack on crackers from my pillow whenever the urge struck.
I envisioned baking chocolate chip cookies loaded with walnuts, a treat my daughter dislikes, and tossing in all the chocolate-covered caramel pieces I desired because someone else couldn’t indulge in chocolate. And I could relish every last cookie all by myself. Dinner would be popcorn, followed by cheesecake for dessert.
With NCIS looping in the background and my laptop nestled in my lap, I pictured myself lounging in pajama pants and a tank top sans a bra—because, really, who cares what hangs out?
Dreamy images filled my mind: binge-watching romantic comedies, sleeping until noon, and luxuriating in long bubble baths. This was the fantasy of a 52-year-old woman raising an 8-year-old granddaughter, caring for an 85-year-old father in the backyard, and married to a husband who travels frequently.
I could see it clearly: reading entire chapters of a book without interruption from a dozen questions, lost socks, or searching for a child. I concocted a plan, feigning remorse for being alone, lamenting about how lonely I would be while they were busy living their lives. I’d miss them terribly, of course, but somehow, I would survive these 45 (forty-five!!!) hours without their company.
I mapped out my hours like a general strategizing an attack, even considering the extra sleep I could catch up on. I yearned to sleep for hours to reclaim the last three decades of life but also wanted to make the most of every moment, wondering if I could manage to stay awake the entire time. (I ultimately decided that wasn’t feasible.)
Once I finally settled into my solitude, I plopped down on the couch, laptop at the ready, and turned on the television. I found a stash of Hallmark movies I had recorded, prepared to immerse myself in the bliss of peace and quiet.
Four hours later, I woke up to a dead laptop battery, the show had ended, and my neck was sore. It didn’t take long for me to pick up the phone and check in with my daughter. Perhaps she would want to come home early? After all, we had chocolate chip cookies to whip up and a spa day to plan.
This article was originally published on June 22, 2015. For more tips on family and motherhood, check out this insightful piece on parenting.
In summary, that unexpected 45-hour break turned out to be a delightful, albeit short-lived, escape from the chaos of family life. From indulging in sweet treats to enjoying uninterrupted TV time, those hours of solitude became a much-needed retreat.
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