I’m getting ready to travel for business, something I do very rarely. I love to travel with my family, but alone, not so much. Maybe I’m a freak, but I almost never leave my husband and kids. The kids may have a once-in-a-blue-moon sleepover with the grandparents or a sitter, and as a couple, we’ve not left our children for more than 27 hours at a time.
So the prospect of traveling for a work trip takes me through several stages of what I like to call The Stages of Leaving:
Stage I: Fantasizing. I get giddy thinking about about a trip on someone else’s dime where I get to sleep alone and uninterrupted in a dark hotel room following a nice meal, prepared by someone besides me. This phase is short-lived and typically spans the period between the time my boss asks if I want to go to Such and Such Conference, until right after I’ve confirmed my airline or hotel reservation. Oh yeah, I’m usually excited about the conference, too.
Stage 2: Planning. I’m obsessive in planning where everyone will be, what they will eat, and suggest activities for each minute of the days (or 60 hours) while I am gone. This part makes my husband the craziest as I’ll repeat questions and quiz him about his schedule like a bad game show host. “And you pick Son up from school at what time??” For this trip, I went as far as to write out a menu for each meal from now until my return, falling short of my original goal to actually prepare the meals and have them labeled in the fridge. (I’m sick, I know.) This stage is the longest. It can run concurrently with Stage I.
Stage 3: Packing. I consider myself to be low maintenance, so this stage will begin later tonight, once I’ve put the kids to bed. Since my closet consists of white blouses, khaki (or black) pants and ... to the chagrin of my BFF ... scarves, I’m pretty much mix-n-match. Everything goes with everything, making my wardrobe akin to Garanimals for grownups. This makes many women cringe, but I don’t even mind using the hotel soap and shampoo. That’s how practical I am.
Stage 4: Dreading. The fantasy stage, having ended several weeks ago, has now yielded to the mental flogging, asking myself “Why did I agree to go on this trip?” I now don’t want to go, don’t want to pack and don’t want to leave my peeps. I’ve got too much to do at work and home to afford the luxury of 60 whole hours away from it all. Ugh. This stage coincides with my discovery of every recent news story about a plane crash, hotel fires or women being abducted by taxi cab drivers.
Stage 5: Acceptance. This stage will begin after my arrival, after I check in to the hotel, at approximately 7 p.m. after my first glass of Cabernet ... only 48 hours until I’m home.
