It was a serendipitous twist of fate that granted me 45 glorious hours of solitude. I was originally set to drive my niece and her newborn to Nashville for a visit with her father, my brother-in-law. But, as life often does, plans shifted, leaving me unexpectedly free. I canceled my dog’s grooming appointment, my 8-year-old was already off at her grandparents, and I waved goodbye to my husband as he left for a business trip.
And then it struck me: I was alone. Completely alone.
No one calling my name or asking where their socks were. No one wondering what was for dinner. The possibilities were endless! I could indulge in all the TV shows I wanted, without a single episode about aliens, classic westerns, or military conflicts. I wouldn’t have to skip through kids’ channels to avoid showing Tater any episodes of “iCarly” or “Scooby-Doo.” I could leave the television on all night, watching infomercials while I nestled on freshly laundered sheets in the guest room, with a stash of crackers on the pillow for late-night snacking.
I envisioned making chocolate chip cookies piled high with walnuts—because my daughter prefers them without. I could include a mountain of chocolate-covered caramel pieces because someone else in the house can’t eat chocolate. And the best part? Every last cookie would be mine to devour.
Dinner could be popcorn and dessert? Cheesecake! I could binge-watch “NCIS” on repeat while lounging in pajama pants and a tank top, sans bra. Who cared?
The fantasies of chick flick marathons, sleeping until noon, and luxuriating in long bubble baths danced in my head like the whimsical tales of a woman in her 50s, raising an 8-year-old granddaughter, caring for her 85-year-old father in the yard, and married to a husband frequently away. This was pure bliss.
Just imagine reading entire chapters of a book without interruptions—no searching for lost socks, no child inquiries, no endless “Why?” questions. I began crafting a plan in my head, pretending to feel guilty about being alone, missing my family terribly while they were out and about. But truly, I was excited about surviving those 45 (yes, 45!!!) hours without them.
I meticulously mapped out my time like a military strategist, anticipating the extra sleep I could catch up on, waking refreshed and ready to seize the day. I wanted to sleep through the ages but also considered whether I could remain awake throughout the entire stretch. (Spoiler alert: I decided that was not feasible.)
Once I finally had the house to myself, I settled onto the couch with my laptop, flicked on the TV, and dove into the Hallmark movies I had recorded. I intended to multitask—watching, reading, and surfing all at once—eager to embrace the tranquility of my “me time.”
Four hours later, I woke up with a dead laptop battery, my TV show long finished, and a sore neck. I couldn’t help but call my daughter to see if she might want to come home early. After all, we had chocolate chip cookies to bake and a spa day to plan together.
This was an unexpected adventure in solitude that turned into a reminder of the joys of family, even in the midst of all that alone time.
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