Had I gone somewhere tropical, this weekend couldn't have been better.

Had I painstakingly scripted my idea of a perfect 72 hours, it wouldn't have measured up to this one.

Had I...

... Alright, fine. I'll shut up now.

Spawnling and I make a really fantastic duo - a fact I've all but forgotten during this crazy summer. We're like peas in a pod, coffee and cream, and other things that blend together perfectly. Well, except when he's calling me 'Stupid Mommy', which happens whenever I don't give him what he wants. I keep telling him he needs to be less subtle and just say what's on his mind, you know? Don't hold back, Spawn. Don't hold back.

In his defense, he's an equal opportunity verbal abuser. He calls everyone else stupid, too. Stupid Daddy, Stupid Brother, Stupid Grandma, Stupid Dog, Stupid Cat... Everyone's stupid, and you can be stupid, too! Anyone up for a playdate? Piss The Spawn off enough and he can help dig a deep trench in your young child's vocabulary in which to stick a few choice words that may never come out.

No takers? Really? Your loss, I guess.

I am very, very relaxed. Well, I was very relaxed until my good friend Sprockett came over with an iced latte containing three shots of espresso. Thanks, man. I'll be manic until 3AM, at which time I will fall exhausted onto my bed and sleep the dreamless sleep of people who've had too much caffeine. Have I mentioned he's single, ladies? Never mind that he's smart, funny and attractive. Those things are irrelevant. He usually brings coffee with him. If that's not incentive to go on a date I don't know what is.

Over the last three days I've had all the elements that make up a perfect environment for emotional decompression: I was in my own home with only one child who just happened to sleep through the night without complaints. I went out, but not too much. I stayed in, but not too much. I entertained, but only for people I like and who don't expect a perfectly clean house. That being said, my house is the cleanest it's been since school let out. The only child in my care wanted to do all the same thing I wanted to do, was very social, (mostly) polite, used the words stupid please and shut up thank you, and did not get into anything dangerous or extremely messy. I had a girl's night, a coffee night, a lunch, a brunch, two city bus rides for Spawnling, watched a movie that spewed forth estrogen from the screen, was shown the joys of smart playlists for my iPhone, played a great deal of Wii Fit (yes, I did get one - was there ever any doubt?), drank copious amounts of coffee, ate a great deal of junk food with no guilt whatsoever, and got over my cold just in time to start running again tomorrow.

Go, Team Maven!

Today I took Spawn up to the campsite Geekster and the older gremlins are frequenting. I figured we could go for three or four hours and call it 'camping'. It's the type of camping I like: quick, not-so-dirty, no sleeping in a tent, and out of there well before my cell phone battery dies.

The Maven and 'roughing it' do not mix. It was a rocky relationship from the start; we tried to make it work, but realized we have different priorities. I like to feel very unlike a caveman and celebrate the fact that we've evolved to the point of showering and sleeping on memory foam mattresses. It's a personal choice.

When the boys asked if I missed them, I smiled widely and declared " Of course I missed you! I can't wait for you to come home tomorrow!"

I think it was almost believable.

See, the dirty little secret is that I wasn't quite at the point of missing them that much. Judge me if you will, but I've been a stay-at-home-mom for over twelve years. I've earned this calloused heart. I love those little demons of mine dearly, but loving them from a distance has been rather... nice.

Oh, sure. My soul would eventually ache for the sweet sound of blood-curdling screams emerging from the playroom as one yanks a Rescue Hero away from the other and launches it across the room. My eyes would eventually miss seeing the teasing inflicted on a six-year-old by a very skilled twelve-year-old. My arms would eventually feel the emptiness of not picking up after forts, spaceships and evil robot building projects.

Eventually. Just not quite yet.

Still, I look forward to seeing their tired little faces when they get back around lunch tomorrow. They may be loud, destructive little things, but they're my loud, destructive little things. Since they come from me, that automatically makes them pretty awesome. Awesome people are always welcome around here.

(Awesome people who clean up after themselves get a VIP pass straight into my good books, however. I wonder if they got that memo...)

Off to bed now. This girl needs her strength for what awaits her in the morning.

Welcome back, chaos. You old, familiar friend, you.

(Photo cred: The Sister, of course)