Island Packet — Since this is a parenting column, I thought I’d write about something unusual that happened last week regarding my children:
They left for four days.
Everybody left, my wife too. They all flew to visit family in upstate New York, a trip I skipped because of work and because, at some point, I was presented with an option to avoid a round-trip one-connection flight with a 2-year-old. I love that little shriek machine to death, but come on. I’ll spare you the details of trying to change a loaded diaper in the sprawling comfort of an airline lavatory, but let me put it this way: Have you ever had to put on a full suit of chain mail in a phone booth? Because that’s a three-month summer vacation to Tahiti compared with changing a diaper in an airline lavatory.
The balance of this column may put off anyone with an aversion to being apart from their kids for more than short spells at a time; it may also burn feverish jealousy in those who don’t. So let’s get out of the way that, of course, I missed them and of course I was happy to have them home. But that interim period, those four days of not-Temple Run and not-daily dishes and not-cleaning up flying globs of peanut butter … well, it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.