The first time Mike and I were on an airplane together was on our honeymoon.  We were headed to Florida, to a condo that was graciously offered to us by a family friend.    We were all lovey and wide-eyed, and I remember actually feeling a little bit embarrassed about how loudly our appearance screamed, “Newlyweds.”  We were, like, twelve years old, and our wedding rings (which we have since ditched for matching silver bands with a quote in gaelic on them) were blindingly clean and sparkly.

The second time – of two – was right before we got pregnant with Spencer.  We were on our way to the Bahamas with my sister and her then boyfriend.  It was actually supposed to be a cruise (which we did take on the way back) but there was a fire on the ship, and we ended up having to fly there instead.   It was a fun trip to a cool resort with great music, all-night limbo parties, and my introduction to the drink called the Bahama Mama.

This morning, 16 years since the booze cruise Bahama vacation, he booked us two tickets to Chicago. Next month I’m going to accompany him on a 4 day business trip sans kids, which will mark the first time that we’ve gone away just the two of us since becoming parents, AND the first time I’ve spent more than a day away from the kids period (I’m not counting the time I was in the hospital for five days with my gall bladder issues.  I’m pretty sure there are different rules when you’re unconscious, losing bodily organs, or hopped up on morphine)

Not leaving the kids was not a conscious decision so much as a continuation of just following my heart and their lead.  I knew I’d do it when they were ready, and not a moment sooner.  We feel most happy and whole when we’re together, whether that means sticking around home, traveling across the country, or all those medium spots in between.

But there he was.  Asking me if I wanted to go with him to Chicago.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have even considered it.  Six months ago, I wouldn’t have even considered it.

This time though, I knew it was time.  And I was ecstatic about the prospect…. three whole days in a new-to-me city, just me and that husband of mine.  The kids are thrilled to spend a few days with their grandparents, and while I’ll miss them like crazy, I know that it’ll be a positive adventure for them as well.

I feel excited, I feel nervous… but mostly I feel an overwhelming sense of the bittersweet.  Not because I’m not sure if the kids are ready, but because I know that they are.