Husband goes on a trip, business trip. And I run our family with four children on my own. Two and a half weeks. “Mama, who should you drink wine with?” asks Little Man concerned. "Shall we have a glass of wine when Daddy's gone?" He shakes his head wildly. "Nooo, crazy mama, I can't drink alcohol." I start to laugh. 'Indeed, children are not allowed to drink alcohol yet.'
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There I will be alone for two and a half weeks for upbringing and housekeeping. Not that there is much difference from normal – when Husband is at home, he is sometimes still at work – but the feeling is different. The responsibility for our family with four children sometimes weighs heavily on my shoulders. And I notice that:I sleep restlessly, I burn faster and sometimes feel a bit anxious.
Do I mind if he leaves? I always think not, until the supreme moment.
The three of us are waving at the window. "Mommy, open the window," Little Man orders. He still has something to say to his father.
"I love you!!!!" And a kiss on the hand.
Husband waves, honks and it's gone. A cold shiver and a sad feeling overcame me. I can feel the tears burning behind my eyelids. I must stop them. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. But then Daughter 18 rubs my back tenderly.
Shit.
I still try to hold back my tears. No chance. They slowly trickle down my cheeks. With my sleeve I wipe them away as quickly as possible. I just hope Little Man doesn't see it. “Mom, are you going to miss daddy that much?” “No, it'll be over in a minute.”
Then he looks at me and starts to cry. Immediately I shed my own tears and kneel beside him. “What is it?” “I'm going to miss Daddy so much.” He's roaring now. Startled, I look at Daughter 18, who stands lost. I hurriedly grab my phone from the counter.
“Yes, hello,” Husband shouts cheerfully. It's quiet for a while. Sobbing is heard. But then Little Man knows how to straighten his shoulders. "Daddy, I'm just going to miss you so much." The sobbing gives way to a soft voice.
"Dear Boevenkop, I'll be right back. And you know what daddy said, you have to put my shoe by the fire and sing songs really loud, so that Santa Claus thinks I've sung.” Now Little Man starts laughing again.
“Daddy, do you want me to put on your left or right shoe?” “Put them both on,” Husband says mischievously. "Nooooo daddy, Sinterklaas doesn't allow that at all."
That same evening, two teenage friends of Puberdater 14 come to stay. We make arrangements. Clear and concrete. It does not work. Within half an hour I have an argument and regret that I promised this sleepover – because the rest was not allowed. Teenage daughter 14 prefers to ignore all the rules or continuously tries to negotiate about agreements made.
I try to stay sporty but lose myself. Anger doesn't solve anything, of course, but sometimes it does relieve a lot. Moreover, I make clear what I like it. The girls leave the house made up and heavily perfumed. While I worry about whether they will get home safely, Little Man is busy distributing the homemade gingerbread cookies.
When I'm in bed, and I hear the front door slamming shut, I breathe a sigh of relief. They are home. It is true that they are not going to sleep yet – the horror films are being taken off the shelf – but they are in. I switch off my light.
That night—when I need to go to the bathroom—I check my phone, as usual. Daughter 18 still texted at 4 a.m. I'm home.
Was she gone then?
-x-
Ievy
<3 Book tips for raising adolescents:
