Friday, September 9, 2005
Page 15
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column) An Overnight Sensation
By J’AMY PACHECO
Since the day my daughter arrived, it seems her life has been measured in milestones of “firsts” — first tooth, first steps, first day of school, first repetition of Mom’s inadvertent swearing, first crush.
No matter how many firsts we experience as a family, each one seems to break new ground and leave us wondering about what the future holds for our “baby,” who is now 9 years old.
We’re a close-knit family, and usually find ways to do things together. On the rare occasions I’ve had to travel for business, my family has been able to come with me and do “tourist stuff” while I worked.
So when a close family friend, whose daughter is my daughter’s best friend, suggested recently that she might like to spend the night at their house, I was torn. I knew she’d be safe and well cared for, but I wasn’t sure how she’d do at bedtime. Frankly, I didn’t know how I would do, either.
The idea intrigued her, and she begged to be allowed to go. I agreed, realizing that unless I was prepared to attend college with her, I’d better start to loosen the proverbial apron strings.
As the realization that she’d be spending a night away from home — alone — began to set in, she wavered. Repeatedly, she voiced doubt about her decision, and wondered if she was ready. I assured her she was, and promised she could call me at any time if she wanted to be picked up.
She was happy and appeared confident when I kissed her good-bye. In fact, she was so engrossed in a Lego Star Wars computer game that my departure barely registered.
In the car, her empty booster seat made me sad. I decided to rent some videos to distract me. Hoping to find a positive aspect to her absence, I rented two scary videos — films I wouldn’t usually watch at home for fear she would see or hear them.
In the video store, I passed a pinball type machine that dispenses little rubber bouncy balls. She never passes the machine without asking for a quarter to play, and I found myself crying at the mere sight of it.
I got really scary videos.
When I popped the first into the DVD player in the family room, I couldn’t help noticing her Barbie Grand Hotel unfolded under the television, and the remote-controlled Barbie car parked in front of it. They made the room feel so empty that I felt tears welling up again.
The first movie was so scary that I begged my husband to come downstairs and watch it with me. Even with him beside me, I had to watch most of it through my fingers. It did the trick — I was so frightened I thought of little else besides the guy who was hearing from dead people over the static in his radio.
The second movie was equally scary, made worse by the fact that it was about a little girl in peril. But I was so unnerved by the unseen bad guy, “Charlie,” that I could think of little else.
When the videos ended, my husband confessed he was as sad as I was. This news surprised me, for my daughter and I occasionally visit grandparents overnight without him. It was different, he said, knowing she didn’t have a parent with her.
I knew what he meant.
My husband and I had 16 years of togetherness alone before our daughter came along. She’s been with us since 1996, and neither of us can remember — or imagine — life without her. We were surprised how a separation of less than 10 miles affected us.
I occasionally have nightmares in which I realize I’ve forgotten to pick her up from school or left her at home alone — things I’ve never done in my waking life. Going to sleep that night, I felt the same sense of unease. It felt like she was very far away, and I felt like I’d overlooked something important.
My friend called at the crack of dawn to tell me a relative had passed away during the night. She needed to care for the man’s elderly father, and wondered if I could pick my daughter up early.
I was there in a heartbeat, secretly relieved to get to retrieve her hours before her scheduled pickup. I was thrilled to discover she was as happy to see me as I was to see her.
My daughter had fun, but admitted she’s not in a big hurry to repeat the adventure. I confess I’m not anxious to encourage her — it was just too hard.
Besides, college is still nine years away. If I can’t get used to the idea of her being away — well, that gives me plenty of time to select a major.
Copyright 2005, Metropolitan News Company