Now I sit here munching on my second well-buttered Cinnamon and Raisin Bagel and drinking my Cappucino, feeling peculiar, trying to quell the strange, squirming, panicky feeling inside and wondering why they don’t warn you about this kind of thing when you have children.
Well… OK…so there isn’t any actual flying involved. It’s more in the order of a coach trip (it should just be leaving about now), but the Solent counts as overseas as far as I am concerned. It may only be a week on the Isle of Wight, but it might as well be a migration to the Southern Hemisphere. And since I have been away this weekend, it counts as a whole week away (from me).
A day away in school has never really been a problem, (we both coped brilliantly), a weekend away (usually on my part) has become commonplace, but an entire Monday to Friday week…that is a whole new kettle of ballgames to cope with. A whole new yawning chasm of unknown emotional experience on which to teeter on the brink. Did I pack everything that needed to be packed? Did I say everything that needed to be said? Will he cope beign away on his own? Will I cope…out of reach, out of contact? And the very small voice inside asking…Will he even miss me?
Perhaps it is worse because they’ve only been back in school a week and after the long summer holidays it was a strange feeling to be in an empty house again anyway.
Ah well, the only thing to do is to have another coffee and throw myself into the laundry, unpacking and replacement vacuum cleaner research (ours bit the dust last week) until fledling no.2 has finished school this afternoon.