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When my 6-year-old daughter Zoe's blood sugar registered in the 400s at midnight, I hissed a little at my husband. "I won't be here tomorrow night to deal with this," I chastised. "It will not be my problem."

Shortly thereafter when her blood sugars registered even higher and I administered an insulin shot into her belly while cursing the insulin pump, I echoed the same sentiment.

I was going away - going away for two whole days.
For two days I would not count carbohydrates, negotiate food options or prick Zoe's finger.

For two days I would not be pushing buttons on Zoe's insulin pump or making decisions that affect the quality of her health in both the here, now and far-flung future.
I wasn't so sure that I needed time away. But repeated nudging from my husband asking me to schedule something finally encouraged me to search for the cheapest hotel rate.

"I think you need a break," he asserted through somewhat gritted teeth.

He was so right.

When my girlfriends asked why I would not be at church on Sunday, I felt sheepish explaining that I was going to a nearby town to sit in a hotel room.

I wasn't going on a religious retreat or a henfest. My plan included sleeping, reading, watching the Food Network and Christmas shopping.

Alone.

"I know I am a loser and a horrible mom," I shrilly interjected, "but I just need to get away from the diabetes."

A fellow mother spoke words that set my heart free.
"I think it is wonderful that you are going. Most people don't understand how much work having a child with medical needs is. You take this break and don't you dare feel guilty."

Her 11-year-old son suffers from brain and spinal cord malformations and multiple food allergies. I cannot begin to imagine the challenges she faces each day as a caregiver.

Yet she offered permission and encouragement to relish something she probably needs herself.

So I drove away from my two little girls with a clean conscience and a copy of "The Heretic's Daughter." I ate meals without interruption and watched multiple episodes of home makeovers.

And in the quiet, I had time to crave my children. To yearn for their weight in my arms, the sound of their childish voices, the smell of their tangled hair.

When I returned to a homemade welcome-home sign and two pouting children in timeouts, I was a lot more thankful for this opportunity to be their mother.

Though they were dressed in white princess costumes, I told them to throw on their coats and pink rain boots. It was a beautiful day and we needed to walk to the local hardware store to admire the Christmas merchandise and pansies.

They put their trusting hands in mine and I was home.

When not obsessing over the wellbeing of her children, Janice Carmac works for the News & Record as an editorial assistant. Contact her at janice.carmac@news-record.com