Getaway

I don't know anyone who has ever said, "It's easy to get away". Even my single friends have a hard time escaping from Something for a day or two. For our family of eleven, it's exponentially difficult. Even harder still? When it's just me and Kel.

Of course, there's the initial concerns of expense, time away from earning income as well as the time spent spending it. And there are the concerns about actually finding a few open days on the calendar that would accomodate a small excursion. But the greater logistics involve our nine children and who possibly could manage managing them. We don't get many offers. And, we don't often get away.

Lucky for us, we have my mom, a retired 6th grade teacher who doesn't scare easily. She regards our home as a small classroom with laundry facilities. Over many childbearing years, she has made it possible to survive labor/delivery/first few days home. She has cooked and cleaned and taken kids on endless trips to McDonald's playland. She has covered carpool obligations and carted kids to doctor appointments. She comes through the front door with a huge sweeping announcement of her arrival, and arms laden with grocery bags full of ice cream (for breakfast) and junk food (for whenever the mood suits you). She lets the kids eat on my livingroom couch, but swears them to secrecy. She does not enforce bedtimes. She thinks absolutely everything my children do is interesting and fun.

And she lies.

She lies that she loves getting rose scented perfume or another frog gift. She lies that my children are helpful and well-behaved. She lies that she is available the 4th weekend in July for an anniversary getaway.

She also lies that everything is "Just fine" when we call home to make sure that the kids are following the rules (they aren't) and we left enough milk in the fridge (we haven't). Friday night, a mere 6 hours after our departure, I detected a slight shrill in her voice in the background when Kieran answered the phone: "Well, it's pouring down rain, Mom. Mimi says I have to get off the phone." My fast fingered texting and subsequent phone calls had my children informing me that "Well, the tornado sirens are going off and we're waking kids up to get into the basement" and then "The power is out", and then "We're waiting for an okay from the fire department."

She lies by ommission too. Not only is my mom selective about the kinds of details she shares, she is quite inclined to embrace a martyr approach, at least until she has to own up when someone else spills the beans. Saturday evening I got to speak to Maddie, and she is an experienced bean spiller. "Hi Sweetie! How was the picnic and pool party?" "Oh, it was lots of fun Mom, until the ambulance showed up." And, our dear screaming Mimi was heard yelling in the background, "I TOLD YOU NOT CALL YOUR MOTHER!"

By all accounts, we had at our door this weekend every local emergency service organization except the National Guard. But honestly, we would have had to read it in the newspaper first. Now, I've matured enough in my parenting to not get so bent out of shape over such news and information, and more than likely I'm just numb to it. Shoot, I live it.

But mom? I fear she may never want to return.
Or, at least she'll lie about it.