My son and I are on our own for the next five days. The photo above was taken this morning and shows him, my wife and daughter before Anne and Caroline boarded a bus that will take them to Savannah, Georgia, with about 50 other girls and women on a kind-of pilgrimage to honor the 100th birthday of the Girl Scouts.

This trip has been in the making for more than a year. When my wife first floated the idea, I thought it was great because when an event is talked about more than a year out, it’s hard to foresee any potential complications. As the months drew closer, however, I wondered whether these few days would be a good time for my son to spend with his grandparents because I wondered how this might affect my work and schedule. But Ethan is currently at a theater camp and his performance is Friday and it didn’t make much sense to take him to Iowa for just a couple of days. So it’s the two of us, for which I’m grateful.

I’ve spent most of my time trying to figure out my calendar for the next few days (When would I run? Do we have enough groceries? How will this affect my work? What will we do this weekend?) and also worrying a tiny bit about him. He’s close to his mother, which I can understand because his mother is pretty great, and last night as Anne was putting him to bed, he was a bit teary, worrying that something bad might happen over these next few days. I’d like to think that I can be as compassionate and caring as his mom, but I just don’t think it’s quite the same in his mind. And he’s probably right.

But after we dropped them off this morning and drove home, we walked into our townhouse and he said, “Well, no more mommy and Caroline." 

"I know,” I said. “Are we going to be OK?”

“I’m going to be OK, but I don’t know about you,” he replied.

I don’t know if that’s a stiff upper lip, but I’m taking it that he’s actually worried about me. He may be right. We’re going to be just fine.