How Do You Deal With Missing Your Kids?

(I still have to take my last final and finish my paper.)

This is a question that only applies to those of us who share kids with another parent we don't live with, but I bet everyone can help us out. Now seems to be the time of year when our kids are on vacation without us. (Mine are with their dad for three weeks. I'm 8 days in.)

In the past, I haven't even noticed they were gone for the first three days, because they're with their day three days a week anyway, so nothing felt different. Then in days 4-6 I started to feel weird. And then it got really hard because I just missed them so much. Calling and Skyping and texting and emailing only does so much.

I'm not quite as nuts this year, I think because I've been so busy and stressed about school, and now I'm in New York. And also because they can initiate contact better now, so it's not just me reaching out to them.

But I'm wondering how others of you deal with not having your kids for longer than usual.

(And I'm thinking about what it's going to be like when they leave my house for good. Help. Seriously.)

I think of myself as a decently busy person. So it's not like I'm just sitting around wishing they were with me. But it just feels like something's missing without them.

Thoughts? Commiseration? Shut up and deal? Thoughts from the other side?


Back to something funny

I've been thinking about having one idea about how something is (BlogHer, myself, myself at BlogHer) and how to create a more realistic picture in my head of what that thing is to bring along with me. One of the things I've hit on is deliberately thinking about positive things that have happened and letting those thoughts flood out the rest. So I thought I'd share a story about BlogHer that always makes me laugh.

Note: It's not really about BlogHer. It's about work. But it happened the day before BlogHer two years ago, and right across the street from the hotel BlogHer is in, so it's always been linked in my mind.

My boss (who recruited me into the company, and with whom I'd been beer-drinking friends for a dozen years) and I had a meeting with Very Important Client at their fancy building across the street from the BlogHer hotel in Midtown Manhattan. It was the kind of meeting you had to wear a suit to (our office was a collared-shirt-and-jeans kind of office, so a suit was a big hassle, plus tie for him and heels for me) and it was July and 98 degrees that day with 10,000% humidity.

My boss and I wore our suits to work (and got teased by everyone in the office), and then walked out into the blazing heat and walked to the subway, stood on the subway platform, got onto the super-chilled subway car to ride to Midtown, got off and back up to the blazing oven of Midtown and walked six blocks to the meeting. (I call that hot-hotter-freezing-hotter-hot sequence the Subway Sauna.) We were both a little sticky by the time we got into the very sleek building and up to the floor of our meeting.

The receptionist pointed us down the hall to the conference room we'd be in, and said we were the first to arrive and she'd let everyone know we were there. My boss and I walked down the hall to the all-glass conference room, with me first. I walked toward the door space straight ahead of us and BONK!! smacked my face onto the glass where I thought there had been an opening.

My boss started cracking up, and then I peeled my face off the glass and saw the enormous sweat and face-goop mark I'd left on the shiny corporate conference room wall and started cracking up myself. My boss and I laughed and laughed, and then our head contact came into the room and told us he'd just popped out of his office in time to catch my facebonk, and then my boss and I really couldn't stop laughing.

It was not even remotely professional. And my boss reminded me of that probably every six weeks until he left the company last year.

So. If you see me this week, say hello, please.