There's something about the end of the week that sets one's mind wandering off through impossibilities.
This has been one of those weeks when Monday night MrsDarwin said, "It's been a long week."
"And it's only Monday," I said.
"Is it? I was thinking it was Tuesday."
That's how it's been.
Last night I was driving home, talking to MrsDarwin on the phone, and wishing that it was Friday instead of Thursday. We were outlining the things that had to happen that night -- enjoyable thing, but a full slate of them. "Maybe tomorrow night we can write," I said. "Or this weekend. There's not much going on this weekend. Except setting up the bunk beds. And some shopping. And cleaning the kids room..."
"Don't you wish we could get away from it all some time and just write?"
Getting away from it all is one of these ideas we cherish but never really pull off. It takes various forms. Second honeymoon. School planning retreat. Writers retreat. The common theme is going off somewhere, just the two of us, where we could sleep in late, have meals provided, and talk or work on things without feeling like we owed it to the trip to sight-see. And, of course, taking a break from shepherding the small persons who are dear to us but can be overwhelming at times.
We talked about doing some sort of get-away for our tenth anniversary, on theory that we hadn't been able to afford much of a honeymoon when we got married and now we could. But as it happened, our tenth anniversary was just a few days before Diana was born.
As that young lady weaned and became a big little girl (though we still called her "baby") we started to talk again about getting away from it all. But things came up and while we took several trips together for various events, the dream of going off together to "just get away" never seemed to fit in. And there's William, who will be a dear little cling monkey for the next year or so. Maybe by our fifteenth anniversary. Or our twentieth...