Here's a fresh twist on mommy guilt: My two children are at my mom's house in New Mexico for a couple of weeks, and I'm not weeping into my pillow every night. We don't live close to family, so Kate and Jack cram the "grandmother time" into a two- to three-week span in the summer, with a followup extended stay over the holidays.

"Oh, do you miss them like crazy?" a friend asked me recently. Of course I do. And at the same time, I'm just fine. Husband Steve stood in the kitchen this morning, fully 20 minutes before he had to leave for work, completely dressed and ready to walk out the door.
"I don't know what to do with myself," he muttered as he packed me a sack lunch and ate some Toasty Joe's cereal.
Yesterday, I stayed at the office till 5:30 and finished up something. Later, Steve and I had a conversation. We went out for a glass of wine and some tapas when we got hungry. We stopped for ice cream at 9 o'clock. I passed out on the couch at about 9:30.
Of course, I'm trying not to feel guilty about enjoying my grownup time. The kids are getting shuttled to the park on a regular basis, getting their fill of cartoons and crafts, and getting spoiled rotten by their two doting aunts. And Jack told me he's both "exhausted out" and "having a blast."
Steve and I are worried that we're too tired to pack in all the things we want to do before we are back on "kid time." But then again, the couch is looking pretty good tonight.