I’m home alone for an entire week. This hasn’t happened since before I was married with kids–even then I lived in a co-op and was rarely alone in the house. After dropping the kids off (at 2 different airports–oh the things we do to get a little me time) I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had grand plans of cleaning out a closet or two…maybe going shopping for some summer clothes. Instead I lounged around and watched Hulu and enjoyed not cooking or doing any laundry. I read a book for a book club. Enjoyed some wine. Also I chanted with a friend and took a Zumba class. Working is keeping me off the streets and from going totally insane. The thing is the house is too quiet. It’s unnatural really. There should be stomping up and down the stairs and at the very least a constant flow of questions about what’s for dinner and what activity we’re doing next. And to make matters worse–because I know I’ll regret not enjoying myself–I got a postcard from my daughter at camp. She’s been telling me lately that it embarrasses her when I call myself “Mommy” in front of other people. A simple “Mom” is fine. So I’ve been trying to accommodate this request, but the word just pops out of my mouth (more often that you’d think for an acceptable use of the word.) So in the postcard she says that I can call myself “Mommy” anytime I want because she misses me so much. It reduced me to tears. I seriously don’t know what to do with myself. I will probably start enjoying the stillness on Friday just before I pick her up.