This summer was the first time both our kids went to camp at the same time.

The "idea" that I would be on my own — no rushing home or cooking dinner — for 22 days in a row was appealing with time, energy, space and — oh, yes — a clutter-free, non-chaotic house.

Be careful what you wish for.

I wanted to go, go, go. My husband landed a quick kibosh. "We are sending two kids to summer camp. We can't travel, too." OK, it would be fun to have unstructured, unscheduled time in my own house.

I tell you it was. It was quiet and calm, unlike the same house where a preteen and a teenager reside.

Rooms were picked up, beds made. Their bathroom, best approached only when necessary, was clean, neat, dry.

After a week, I ran out of bowls for oatmeal, so I ran the dishwasher. I went to the market twice — once for dinner, once for my husband when he needed lunches.

In 22 days, I made dinner twice. (Do eggs count? Then, three times.) We were out every night with friends, on our own, using Groupons (official currency of parents whose kids are gone).

I googled to find new places to try weeknights - our most decadent treat. Staying at home was fun.

We walked the dog at 9 p.m., watched TV into the night and worked uninterrupted around the house.

The agenda held dinner dates, daily gym workouts, books read alone at the pool, movie matinees, home projects biscotti baked with my friend, Aida, and an abundance of trash TV (my kids don't know).

I really and truly had a vacation.

Until I started to miss the kids. I know ... crazy.

At about the two-week mark, I looked around at the clean, quiet house. I had done all I wanted — exercised, pedicured, lunched, dinnered, organized, read.

I missed being a mom.

That is how I define myself: a mom through and through. While I can't always keep the chaotic and crazy life steady, I really missed my kids.

I needed regular hours and other lives for focus and balance. I needed a schedule.

Having fun wore me out.

My kids arrived on Thursday evening, laughing and sweet, full of hugs and kisses, glad to see me. Full of cheer, they couldn't wait to share camp stories.

Within 24 hours, our washer ran 16 loads of laundry nonstop and both kids took long, hot showers (with soap). Within 48 hours, they checked emails, caught up with friends, gathered school supplies and argued with me at least once. Ah, they were really home!

At the end of three days, they were still tired and sleeping until 11 a.m., but duffels were unpacked, clean laundry and most everything put away. We went to the pool, got away for ice cream, ate dinner together and Joe resumed swim practice.

In the same timeframe, I did not work out at the gym, barely checked emails and shopped for food three times. We still pored over camp pictures and shared camp stories.

I am happy they are back safe and sound — under our roof. The house is not as cleaned up.

Life as I know and love it has returned to normal.

My 22 days of fun is a distant memory. Chaos.

Craziness. I love it.

---

Pam Wilson lives in suburbia, and while she has no idea how she wound up there, is enjoying the journey. She has a 14-year-old son and a 11-year-old daughter. Pam has a bachelor's in family and child development and a master's in social work. She is an outdoor girl, an avid reader, enjoys biking and baking, loves to hang out with friends and has determined that chocolate can indeed solve most of life's problems.