Column: Savagemama

My Weekend Alone: How One Mama Survived, Even Thrived

By Jennifer Savage, 9-24-07

So, they went.

Seth took Eliza to Portland and I survived a quiet weekend alone. As I helped Seth ready Eliza for the trip, I tried to remind myself this was a good idea.

After we put her to sleep that night. I stacked her clothes in Seth’s suitcase. I always over pack for Eliza and this night was no different. I packed several long-sleeved shirts, pants, a dress or two, some short-sleeved onesies and three pairs of shoes. Yes, three pairs of shoes for a child that isn’t even walking. Even while moving around the house matching outfits, finding diapers and bottles of teething tablets, I was still on the fence about this whole endeavor.

During the past 24 hours, I’d called everyone I could think of that might be able to reassure me that sending Eliza to Portland was OK. Everyone thought she’d be fine, that she wouldn’t wean if Seth took breast milk, that it could be an adventure. I was still unsure.

It came down to two things: I was being a little selfish and I would miss her.

I went to bed wondering what we would decide when morning came but when it did Seth and I never really talked about it. He took a shower, dressed and began packing Eliza’s food for the day.

“Do you think this cooler will work?” he said. “Will they let me on the plane?”

“Do you have enough breast milk?” I said. “Do you have enough food for her? She likes to read books on the plane.”

I gave Eliza a bath and dressed her in a clean pair of pants and a pastel stripped shirt. I put her fleece vest on her just to make sure she was warm. I combed her curly hair away from her face and clipped it with a purple barrette.

I wrote out her schedule, what she usually eats and a grocery list for when Seth got to Portland. All of which was totally unnecessary but made me feel better, gave me some sense of agency and Seth, kindly, played along.

Seth loaded the car and we tucked Eliza into her car seat for the drive to Spokane and the airport. When I closed the door I could barely see her little face above the door. She looked at me a little confused but played with a set of toy keys and tugged on a binki. We said our goodbyes and Seth turned the car down the driveway. I watched until I could no longer see her face and went inside to a quiet I hadn’t heard in a long time.

A few hours later, at the farmer’s market, I couldn’t seem to keep up with conversations. I felt a little in a daze so I broke away from people I knew and made my way to a place where I could call and check on my girl.

“We’re at the gate,” Seth said. “I’m surprised you’ve waited so long to call.”

“I’m trying,” I said. “What is she doing?”

“Oh, she’s playing and eating,” he said.

“Okay, give a big kiss and tell her I love her,” I said. We hung up and I stumbled down the street looking for something or someone to direct me. After a few blocks I decided to get something to eat. I did and slowly made a plan for the day.

Go to the grocery store.

Can tomato sauce.

Sand drywall.

Clean house.

Meet a friend later for a wine tasting.

Maybe go to the Gourds concert.

At the grocery store I bought the makings to compliment the tomatoes that were slowly rotting in my kitchen. I drove home, in Seth’s truck, and spent the next few hours blanching tomatoes, pulling oregano and basil from the garden, chopping garlic, sautéing onions and, eventually, canning 15 jars of sauce. I sanded drywall until it gave me a headache, I bustled around the house picking up toys, carrying laundry to the washer, and vacuuming dog hair off the living room rug. The day was not glamorous but steeped in function and it was exactly what I needed.

I drove to town that night feeling a little nervous. I hadn’t been to a wine tasting in who knew how long. I had somehow forgotten how to dress for an occasion such as this and opted for a clean t-shirt and jeans.

I met my friend at the wine tasting where they were pouring an Australian Pinot Noir. After living in Oregon’s Willamette Valley for two years, I love Pinot. And it was nice to drink it and talk about shoes, hunting season, even work. After the tasting we sat down for some food before the Gourds concert was to start.

After a few appetizers, my friend, whose child was at a sitter’s for a few hours, left the table to answer her cell phone. Another woman and I continued our conversation about the differences of star signs (I am a Virgo, she is a Scorpio), then my friend came back to the table looking concerned.

“Do you think we can get the check?” she said.

“Is everything okay?” I said.

“I think I need to go get my little girl,” she said. “They said she’s sitting in the playhouse by herself.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

And twenty minutes later we were in the car on the way to the sitter. It must have been a funny scene in the restaurant, two mamas – one needing to go get her kid, another, by this point, really missing her kid – spring to action with one phone call. Pay the bill, go to the bathroom, and leave the place with a single-minded mission. A little girl across town needed her mama and we were going to make sure she got to her as fast as possible.

My friend apologized on the way to the sitter. And all I wanted to tell her was that I didn’t want to be anywhere else than in her car on the way to get her little girl. I was not inconvenienced, not sidetracked, just glad to be able to be supportive.

As she buckled her daughter into her car and we headed back downtown to catch some of the concert, we were both happy to have her kid with us. As my friend’s daughter chattered and held onto her doll, she was safe and I knew, that in Portland, Eliza was too.

Just being with my friend and her daughter that night helped ease the ache I was feeling. Sweeping the blonde hair of the eyes of her daughter, I felt closer to my own child who was sleeping without me for the first time.

We made our way to the crowded street and the country swing of the Gourds that night. I surveyed the crowd and, after a little while, decided to head home. My friend left too to go home and put her little one to sleep. I tucked myself into bed and slept a deep sleep that I had forgotten existed.

The next night, with our house was spotless, 12 jars of applesauce on the kitchen shelf and every stitch of clothing the three of us own clean, I took myself to a movie. I drank Coke and ate buttered popcorn. I let myself be carried away on the soundtrack of a modern-day Indie musical. I didn’t turn the car radio on the whole ride home to savor it. I had a good time by myself. I went to sleep that night with the anticipation of an eight-year-old on Christmas Eve. Eliza would be home by noon and I was relaxed and excited to see her. 

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