I often tell everyone that I have four boys. That’s right FOUR boys. Boys ages 7, 5, 4, and 36. Don’t we all have that “boy” to deal with? The “boy” that you need to feed and constantly clean up after just like the rest of the boys. You have to tell him to put his socks in the hamper, don’t get all riled up, and say “Hey, how long have you been playing that video game?”

Well this mama is on vacation!! I love my husband dearly but I LOVE when he goes away every year camping with the guys. I even have my secret countdown! After he kissed me goodbye and was on his merry way I kind of did a happy dance (hanging head in shame). Now one might say, “But you’re stuck with the kids for the entire weekend without back up.” I will take it! You see as in many families there is always the good cop/bad cop thing. I am always the bad cop. I’m the enforcer. I dish out the rules and consequences; complete with follow through and a lecture. I’m the hardass. Dad is so fun and mom…well, when your kids start saying “Yes, Master Mom” you get the hint.

Things are different when it’s just mom around. I get to be BOTH; the good cop and the bad cop. One must maintain balance, right? We don’t run into the situation were “Daddy said I can play my video game.” just 10 minutes after I said “No, you need to go play outside.” It’s my way. Oh, there is that controlling Virgo in me. When I say it is bedtime there is no sudden game of T-Rex attack to interrupt the flow from brushing teeth to tucking in. I find myself being a little more lenient with certain things. I say “yes” more. I can be the attacking T-Rex at an appropriate time, not bedtime. I can be FUN!

I put them to bed and then there is silence, aside from the dog’s incessant whining because he wants to get on the couch again after just getting off of it two minutes prior. I can watch whatever crap on TV I want. I can watch reruns of Grey’s Anatomy without the comments on how it’s really not like that in a hospital (duh, I’m not an idiot). I don’t have to talk or listen to anyone. I can just sip my wine and be.

Of course I miss my 36 year old boy, but never the first night. The first night is vacation bliss. My children fall asleep thinking “fun mom is awesome.” The second night I might miss him a little bit. By Sunday morning I anticipate his arrival home in the afternoon. Then there is the arrival…kids are happy, I’m happy. 20 minutes after arrival…there is a pile of campfire smoke stinking crap on my dining room floor. The “boy” is back. I’m ready to stomp my foot and get this shit cleaned up!