“Thoughts and prayers for me as I face one of the biggest challenges of parenting (and yes, I’m very lucky I’ve never done it before) – having the kids for the weekend by myself,” I posted on Facebook two weeks ago. For the first time, I had the kids to myself for more than a day.

In the past, my husband Chris, has always been back by dinner. While I’ve gone on several work trips over the years, he’s never gone on a trip on his own. But two weeks ago, he was headed off to Las Vegas to visit his sister and her new baby.

He deserved it. I owed it to him.

I was also scared shitless.

Should I have been scared? Probably not. But feelings don’t work that way. As a parent, I hate feeling like I don’t have a back-up or someone I can turn to for a second opinion. Even after five years, my confidence in my decisions wavers on a regular basis.

I was also nervous about living up to my own high expectations. All of that stuff that I say the kids or Chris should do everyday? Now I was responsible for it. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t or couldn’t do it myself? Not to mention that I hadn’t cooked in ages. When you’re married to a man who worked in fine dining kitchens for years, you let him do the cooking. I worried that the kids were going to be disappointed in my cooking after being spoiled with his.

All of which were excellent reasons why I needed to be by myself with the kids for a weekend. Honestly, I probably should have done it long ago.

The weekend didn’t start auspiciously. Chris’s flight got moved up, so my parents came to watch the kids in the afternoon while I was working. I kicked off my household duties by making dinner. After cracking and whisking six eggs for breakfast for dinner, I recalled that the white of one of the eggs looked awfully pink. “It’s probably nothing, but I’ll look up what it means just in case,” I thought as I Googled it. Nope. It meant the egg had gone bad, ruining all of the eggs I had used and dooming my dinner. Explaining the issue to my mom while freaking out a little that I was failing my Very First Task, she shooed me out of the kitchen. So I ended up downstairs watching Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood with the kids while my own mom made dinner. So much for being independent.

The next morning started with a similar portent – both kids woke up a solid half-hour earlier than usual. Thanks, guys.

But the longer the weekend went on, the more we got in the groove. A small party at my friends’ house let the kids play with other kids, watch the always-awesome Moana, and kept all of us from cabin fever. Dance parties to the White Stripes and Black Keys helped all three of us get the loopiness out. As my kindergartener and I sorted through his schoolwork and craft projects, we talked about his art and what he was learning. Playing charades together resulted in me waddling like a penguin and both of us giggling. The rest of the home-cooked dinners so went well that the kids declared them “really good!”

On Sunday afternoon, I even convinced them to take short walk in the cold. Inside, they were literally bouncing off the couch, the walls, and each other. Outside, we poked at ice on the sidewalk, traces the silhouettes of trees at sunset with our eyes, and marveled at a giant flock of birds rising into the sky.

As my confidence grew, so did their confidence in me. The less panicked I seemed, the more cooperative they were. Our moods fed off each other.

While I still missed my husband, it wasn’t in a “come rescue me!” sort of way. It was in a “I wish you were here to share this moment” way.

By the end of the weekend, I was grateful for this opportunity. It pushed my abilities, helping me to see I am more capable than I ever realized. While I still don’t want to be a stay-at-home parent, I feel like I could be if I needed to. It also reminded me that expectations aren’t everything – they’re goals, not laws. I need to treat myself and my husband with less judgement and more kindness.

On Sunday night, I told my older son how much I had enjoyed the weekend. I also mentioned that I had been nervous about it. “Why were you nervous, mama?” he asked, his blue eyes wide open. “It was the first time I’ve been by myself with you guys,” I said. “I just didn’t know how it would go.” After thinking for a moment, he said, “I’m proud of you, mama.” Me too, sweetheart, me too.

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