Every year we’ve lived in New York the boys have spent their summers in Utah. It’s been a week and a half since they left, and over the weekend I was asked multiple times by people how often I’ve talked to them since they’ve been there. Yesterday someone asked me if I called them every day and I sort of laughed because I hadn’t called them once. I did, however, text twice and gchat once (mostly to tell Mason, yes, he does have to do his summer workbook, and mostly to have him write back, “why,” “ok” and “fine”).
Without fail I am asked if I miss them while they’re gone. And although I will admit last year I was ready for them to come back at the end of the summer, I don’t know if I can definitively say I miss them that much while they are away.
Maybe it is along that same vein about never being baby hungry, or various people in my life joking about my steel heart. I have never understood parents who say they’re sad when their children start school, or have a hard time leaving them to go on an adult-only vacation (I took my first one when Mason was three months old).
I love them, yes. I have fun with them, enjoy their company, am proud of accomplishments, and care about their well-being. But to me that just doesn’t correlate with missing them when we’re apart. Maybe that part of my brain someone forgot to let fully develop.
Or maybe that part of my brain is actually more fully developed, therefore allowing me function more rationally. Maybe that’s what makes me so great at being a working mom. (ha!)
Either way, I guess if I had a point beyond rambling through a blog post, it would be this: just like not everyone has to be baby hungry to be happy to have a baby (or two), not everyone has to miss their kids after a week apart to really love them.
Although, let me be very clear that last night’s initial FaceTime of the summer with the boys was a pretty fun time. Until Tyler started biting my hair and the boys started slapping each other, then it was time to say good-bye.