The getaway

When Leif leaves for work in the morning, Paige always asks him, "How many houses?" and "How many days?" Meaning, how many houses is he going to work on, and how many days will he be gone. It's actually quite adorable.

This morning, as I began the daily grind, I said to Leif, "How many houses? One. One house, for the rest of my life, and the job will never be done." He gets to go to a house, fix the damage, and leave it finished forever. Must feel nice. He said, "I sense a blog post in this." Well, here ya go, buddy.

I was thinking how lovely it would be to have a second home. A cabin. A beach house. A winter home. If I was having a particularly rough day wading through spills and screams, I could go to my happy place, imagining myself in my other house where everything was tidy. Or, if things got really bad, I could actually go to the clean house. By myself. With a pile of books from my to-read list and one of those sleep masks. (I haven't used a sleep mask in . . . how old is Gavin?) Ahhh, the solitude.

Never mind the fact that I'd start to feel sad about a day into my trip, longing to be with my kids again. Those noisy, beautiful messmakers, God love 'em. Even if I had taken the kids with me to home #2, there's something about being away from home #1 that makes it easier to be less strung. I'd smile and sing more and would yell less.

Maybe when the house we just bought is completely remodeled, shiny and new, I'll just let it sit there and we'll keep on renting this one. Then my getaway will be a mere two-mile run away.

I'm a genius.