I don't want to talk about it

They're coming home today!

Nick and Kyle have been in Florida all week with their dad and grandparents. They've been to Disney, Animal Kingdom, Cocoa Beach, and the Kennedy Space Center. They've been having a fabulous time, and have been telling me all about their adventures every night on the phone while they've been away.

And I don't want to talk about it.

I don't want to talk about how much I have missed them.

I don't want to talk about how this past week has reminded me of all the time I have missed out on with them for the past 5 1/2 years.

I don't want to talk about "every other weekend."

I don't want to talk about how my Kyle was only 2 years old when we started that, and all the nights that he went to bed without a goodnight kiss from his mommy. And I don't want to talk about my Nick, who was 6 and had so many questions. And a broken heart.

I used to count the days, count the hours that they were away from me. Two weekends a month...52 days a year that I am missing out on their lives.

I know all about quality time. Making the most of the time we do have together. Talking on the phone every single day that they are not with me. Knowing that even with this schedule, they still spend a majority of their time at home with me. Every other weekend, I see them Fridays after school until their dad picks them up, and they come home on Sunday afternoons. So really it's only those Saturdays that I don't see them. So really it's only 26 days a year, right?

I know. This sounds really pathetic and obsessive. I'm focusing on the negative when I should be counting my blessings. Normally I do. But not this week.

I asked Vince yesterday, "why am I not crying every night because I miss them so much?" He said "because you are not alone, and you know they are safe and having a great time." He's right. But I also know that I am a little bit numb. I had to learn to let myself be a little bit numb years ago or else the hurt of missing them would have consumed me. Sometimes it did anyway. In those first couple of years there were many Saturdays that I didn't even want to get out of bed. I didn't leave my house. What did I have to get up for anyway? Who was around to care if I got out of bed at all?

Well, now there are people around who care....there's a boy sitting on the couch watching "Myth Busters", amusing himself (and me) as he quotes commercials. He cares. There's a little girl laying on the floor brushing her hair and laughing at her brother. She cares. There are a couple teenagers downstairs still sleeping, who care. (At least a little bit?) And there is a man laying in my bed. Who wants me to be there when he awakes. I know he cares.

It's because of them that I am not numb. I am not laying in my bed all day on a Saturday. And even though my heart still aches, I am not crying myself to sleep every night that my boys are not here. You see, as much as they needed me....I needed them too.