There was no one to feed but me, no teeth to brush but mine, and no butts to wipe but my own.
It only took 72 hours to undo the damage done to my mental status as a result of spending three years with my children without a vacation from them. A three-day, mini trip to Portland was thoroughly enjoyable, and I'm relieved to find out that I am still me under the stress and frustration of two children who enjoy biting each other, kicking each other, and removing fists full of hair from their sibling's head. While I do love them dearly, I sometimes I feel like they bring out the worst in me, and I find myself shouting (when I should be talking), scowling (when I should be laughing), and wondering how to escape (when I should be enjoying these fleeting times).
Since I've been back, I've been trying to laugh things off a little more and let them sort out their squabbles a bit more frequently. So far it's working, but it has not been easy. They sure know just what to do to make me cringe.
Anyway, I can't remember why I used to hate traveling before I had kids. It was so easy, and there was so much less to carry. I even enjoyed being at the airport. Without children, there was no one to distract me from my latte and my book. And I'm already planning the next get-away. Being selfish, I've realized, is good for the whole family.