Upon my return from, gulp, nine days abroad sans children, I find myself discussing the why.  “Wasn’t it hard to leave your kids?” many have asked, some in a slightly accusatory tone.  Short answer: Yes. It was hard to leave my kids. I cried when we walked out the door. I cried at least once after a long-distance phone call in which my tearful three-year-old told me she missed me. But I went, and I would do it again and we hope to sooner than later. Why?

I know this is not necessarily a normal parental attitude, and it's certainly not the one my parents modeled. I remember being nine years old and staying with my grandparents for 10 days with my brothers, eight and two, while my parents took their one-and-only solo vacation to St. Thomas. I cried. The boys cried.  I said that I forgot what my mother looked like and listened to Anne Murray songs because her voice reminded me of my mom. When my parents returned, my mom said they would not go on a trip like that again; they missed us too much.  But no permanent damage was done.

Before we had kids, we discussed the importance of our marriage and its impact on our children.  We said our children would not be our top priority. It was easy to say it then; our children were faceless.  But now they are Mirabella, the princess-obsessed, exceptionally bright and precocious 3-year-old with the business-like blonde bob she is always tucking behind her ears, and Emerie, the tiny sprite of a toddler with a head full of loopy strawberry curls, sky-blue eyes, and the tenacity of a much larger child.  They have, quite literally, made our lives full. They have also only increased the urgency of prioritizing our relationship.  Life as two working parents with two pre-school-aged children requires teamwork.  Dividing to conquer. Days are filled with tasks, not always quality time.  We get to the point where we can’t see each other anymore.

I don’t understand it when people say they “don’t believe in divorce.”  It is irrefutable; it exists, regardless of whether you believe in it.  This fact, and the related topic of wanting to stay together as opposed to "not divorced," was the focus of our premarital counseling. We just celebrated five years of marriage, and it is clearer to me than ever why so many marriages fail. I can absolutely see how people “fall out of love” with each other or feel that they don’t know each other anymore. It takes vigilance, and sometimes the (valid) reasons not to make time for us pile up.  Sometimes it’s okay; life is a series of seasons. I am prone to letting it slide, but Daniel has always  been our advocate. He always looks for opportunities to get out or away, to the point that I sometimes tease that he wants to pretend we have a different life.  It's not that; he is unabashedly resolute in his desire not to lose us.  One night in Rome, on the rooftop terrace of our hotel, I thanked him for making it happen. Left up to me, we might go on the occasional date, but we would not be selfish for our marriage.  We would be available to everyone but each other.  We would be wrong.

This is not the proverbial question, “which came first;” that one is obvious.  We came first.  We were here first, sipping coffee on park benches all over Baltimore, marveling in the joy of just being together, before those precious girls were even a thought. And, it's my sincere prayer that we will still be here once the girls have started their own lives. Ayelet Waldman wrote this controversial piece a few years back in the New York Times about why she loves her husband more than her kids.  Uproar ensued. I think some of her language was a little inflammatory, maybe to get a reaction, maybe because that's actually how she feels.  I know in my writing I have often been rightly accused of assuming the good and highlighting the bad.  But I think I agree with her central point.  We do our children a disservice when they are the absolute center of our lives, home, and family.  

At work one day a co-worker said he admired that we made time to go away.  I mentioned that we have chosen to put our marriage ahead of our children for the benefit of our children.  Himself a 35-year marriage veteran with four grown children, he cringed; "I think the kids come first, but I understand what you're saying."  A fellow mother of young kids asked for details of the trip with envious eyes.  "We've been married eight years and we've only ever been away for one night a couple of times.  I have never spent more than a night away from my kids."

I'm not advocating leaving children for long stretches, or at least not for the sake of leaving children.  But the benefits of our trip-- the reconnection, the time our children spent bonding with their grandparents, the lesson they learned that Mommy and Daddy love each other and always come back, and the memories Daniel and I will have of our adventure together-- far outweighed our shared heartache over the separation.  Emerie took a couple weeks to realize I wasn't hopping on a plane every time I left the room, but she is fine now.  And though some may disagree, I think we are better parents post Italy.

Sunday night, at an impromptu dinner at our house with my parents, I lost my cool with my husband.

"This isn't really relevant," he said, "but softball starts this week."  He maintained, in front of our audience, that we had spoken about this before.  I maintain that he probably wouldn't have brought it up in front of our audience if that were the case.  The details aren't really important.  Suffice it to say, he is playing softball on Thursday nights, as he has most of the years we've been together.  It's not that the softball is new; it's that everything else is.  Since last season, we've started attending a small group on Thursdays with other couples from church.  They have become like family. And, of course, now Daniel travels.  Half the time, in fact.  Occasionally, I am crazy enough to brave small group without him, but usually that means I am tending to my small and noisy children, trying to keep them from keeping everyone else from enjoying the time.  Attempting this feat after work is a challenge, and past bedtime it's impossible.  Then I drive six blocks home (it's not a safe six blocks to walk in the dark alone) and drive around for about 20 minutes looking for parking.  This part can be alleviated, thanks to a wonderful friend who is willing to give us a ride.  The point is that with Daniel gone half the time and at softball the other half, that doesn't really leave much room for small group.

Well, that's one point.  The other is the larger subject of free time.  What it is, who gets it, and how often. We have a standing misunderstanding on this subject.  Daniel is convinced I believe traveling for work is living a life of leisure.  I know this isn't true, mostly.  But here's what I also know: it involves sleeping in a hotel.  Alone.  With lots of pillows and not even the remote possibility of being awakened by screaming children.  It involves absolutely no cooking or cleaning, no keeping anything alive, no laundry or ironing.  It is eating in restaurants, conversations with grownups, and free glasses of wine. It is caring for oneself.  Going to the bathroom alone.  These are luxuries mothers do not have.

I adore being a mother.  I love  caring for my little girls.  But to say that the role, lately, hasn't been a challenge would be silly.  It just has.  And I long for some time-- any time-- alone.  I have been asking for this since last fall, and Daniel has wholeheartedly supported it, but I haven't lobbied.  When it comes down to it, I cave.

I remember fifth-grade Social Studies with Mr. Davis, he of the chinstrap beard and rimless, octagonal glasses.  He taught us about opportunity cost.  I think of it every day.  I don't make time for time alone.  I don't demand it.  And even when it's offered, often I find "more useful" ways to spend it.  There is always shopping that could be done, or bath time, or a project I was meaning to finish, or bedtime stories, or cleaning, or even spending time with that husband of mine.  I defer to the family.

When softball was sprung on me, part of why I exploded was that I knew it would make me resentful.  But how can I be resentful if, when afforded the opportunity for time alone, I don't take it?  Yesterday Daniel sent me an Outlook calendar invite for Christina's Time (location: anywhere you want to be).  Since then I've been thinking-- how would I use the time?  I felt pressure to use it wisely, to make the most of it.  Should I have a drink with a friend?  Should I go shopping for spring clothes? Should I return the pair of shoes that broke today? Should I stay home and do Pilates? 

I should not stay home, this I know.  When the girls and I got home tonight, Daniel started to cook dinner.  I didn't know what to do, so I attempted to do a Masala Bangra (Indian dance) DVD with toddlers at my clumsy feet.  Needless advice: don't try that at home.  After we ate, I sat bribing Mirabella to finish her taco and scolding Emerie for pulling hair.

"Baby. Just go," Daniel said.

So I did.  I put on an unnecessary scarf and boots, and I am sitting at Starbucks.  Just me, my laptop and my cheap girl's mocha (order a coffee, add sweetener and cream, then dump a bunch of chocolate powder in.  I unscrew the cap.  For real.). When I left, I had to pry Emerie from my leg and tell Mirabella not to cry.  It didn't feel good.  But sitting here, I feel a little like the girl I used to be. The one who recharged by being alone; the one with a head full of words and the time to put them to paper. That's the girl I've always been and that Daniel fell in love with.  I have to believe my kids deserve to know her too.

I used to parachute to school. Our minivan our aircraft, my  father our pilot.  He was, to our delight, terrible at landing, deliberately hitting the curb every time.  Turbulence, he'd say.  Most of the time, Dad's mood set the tone for the family.  If he was silly, as he often was, we knew we would have fun, no matter what we were doing. After countless drives home, I sat in the dark car dancing while he drummed on the steering wheel.  You just can't go in the house in the middle of a good song.

But when Dad was in a foul mood, it settled in over everyone. The infamous A1 incident is a good example. My brother set the cap on the bottle loosely so that when my dad shook it it sprayed through the air, mostly all over my white shirt.  For whatever reason, on that day, he did not see the humor.  We all laughed hysterically and were reprimanded.  I know he didn't intend to dictate the tone, but that's how it was. It always bothered me that I didn't feel capable of letting him be-- in whatever state he felt like being-- without letting it affect mine. 

Now I'm married to a wonderful man who is more like my father than I ever would have imagined.  Of course, there are things that are very right about that.  There are others that make my mother laugh and make me question the wisdom of my choice.  If Daniel is in a great mood, we all are.  If his mood is sour, mine will be too.  I take it personally.  I cannot understand why I do this.  To his credit, when I am in the middle of one of my not-so-infrequent "dark moments," he never does this.  He never assumes my displeasure, and is routinely sweet to me, even while I take out my irritation on him.  But I feel like I have to fix it, making him offers in an effort to help.  When that doesn't work, I get annoyed.  I challenge him, as if he's not supposed to feel whatever way he feels.  It's terribly selfish of me, actually.  It's not that I want him to feel better, it's that I want to feel better. And since I can't seem to be responsible for my own emotions in this case, that requires that he feel better too.

I used to say I wouldn't let this happen-- that I would set an example for my children and would not allow anyone to impose negativity on the rest of the family.  As it turns out, I'm the one perpetuating it. He's brooding lately, through no fault of my own, over stress at work and uncertainty in our personal life.  It's all completely warranted.  I've offered tea and a listening ear, time alone-- whatever he needed.  It didn't work.  I started troubleshooting, which pretty much never works. I need to learn to let it be without letting it be mine.