OmegaMom

I’m sure you guys can deal… from Passive-Aggressive Notes.

If you’re an IT person, or married to an IT person, or the child or parent or sibling of an IT person, you just have to check it out.

Friday night, I drove down the hill to OmegaGranny’s, the dotter sacked out in the back seat.  We got there, we dined with OG, returned to her house, and I immediately said, “Welp, kiddo, time for me to go!”

Then she dissolved into weeping.

Serious weeping.

Oh, dear.

Did I waver?

Nosirree, Bob.  Not a bit, not a whit.  I felt like a kitten killer as I drove off, but we had Things To Do, and a five-year-old underfoot, wanting entertainment, is not conducive to Doing Things.

I drove back up the hill in blissful quiet (the dotter thinks the CD changer in the car is just wonderful, and we’ve had a steady diet of the Turtles and the Beach Boys whenever she’s in the car).  I got home, and it was just me and OmegaDad.

Whoa!

I remember him!  He’s the guy I married!  I like him!  I enjoy being around him!

We spent from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m. on Saturday scrubbing and packing and painting and other things.

And y’know what?  It was fun.  We Got Things Done.  We were able to take a breath after completing one project, then dive right into the next one, without worrying about feeding a child, or helping her with her horsies, or putting a new movie into the video or DVD player.  We heard no strains of Barbie.  There were no Sesame Street characters intruding on our concentration.  Nary a hair of a princess crossed our paths–or our minds.

We loved it.

And then…then…

We went out to dinner.  Just the two of us.  Together.  And had adult conversation–not x-rated adult conversation, just “what’s next on the agenda”, “omigosh, we’re moving to Alaska!”, “man, that fiddler is good!”, “I wonder what the artwork will be like up there” (after surveying the very modern southwest art in the restaurant), “We need to do x, y, and z by Tuesday”, and other mundane things.

We were able to sleep in the dark for two nights in a row.  We were able to wake up by ourselves two mornings in a row.  Both of us sank deep into weary repose immediately our heads hit the pillows, and the dawg snoring and the husband snoring didn’t wake me up (the dotter squeaking or snoring or rustling wakes me up–I’m still in that hyper-aware mode, bleah).

When we called OmegaGranny Saturday night, before heading out for dinner, the dotter, upon hearing daddy’s voice, began sobbing.  Then she asked for mommy.  Then she just wept incoherently on the phone.

I felt like a kitten killer again.  But, according to granny, she had been doing perfectly fine until we called.  (Granny already sounded a bit weary herself.)

So, despite feeling guilty as hell, and being tired as hell from the aforementioned scrubbing and packing and painting, I loved our weekend to ourselves, and plan to figure out how to do it as soon as we get to know people up in Alaska.  (”Excuse me?  Ma’am?  I see you have a five-year-old, too.  Here.  This one’s mine.  I’m sure she won’t be a bother to you tonight.  We’ll pick her up again tomorrow around five…”…pause…”Oh!  And what’s your name?  And your phone number?  Five o’clock!  Remember!  Bye!”)

Oops.  Forgot to add that she actually had a fine time at granny’s and was not a woeful weepy child when we arrived Sunday afternoon.