My mom arrives tomorrow for a weeklong visit. This is great news for my husband, who gets to eat her cooking, and fantastic news for my kids, who will spend hours at the park. But no one is more excited than I, because for seven glorious days, I get to be a second-string mom.

I’ll still be top-tier for things like scraped knees and ass butlering, but my mom will (happily?) take over a lot of the mundane tasks that make up a SAHMs day: folding laundry; putting the kids to bed; and loading the dishwasher. (Yes, I am Marion Cunningham.)

Her visits allow me to revisit, very briefly, a time when I was responsible only for myself. When I could eat popcorn for dinner. Or join a friend for a lunch date that didn’t include a juice box. Or go to a matinee movie without 3D glasses.

I will be able to write uninterrupted. I will do hot yoga. I will shop in stores that don’t offer strollers. (It appears that I aspire to be Candace Bushnell, only with less random sex and more comfortable shoes. So…still Mrs. Cunningham.)

Obviously I’ll also get to have a great visit with my mom. And it’s not that I don’t relish staying home with my kids; I know exactly how lucky I am to be in the position to both work from home as well as have an opportunity to step back and appreciate it all the more.

There’s a song that sums this up nicely: “How Can I Miss You If You Never Go Away.” Thank you, mom, for giving me a break from the ‘burb life next week and allowing me to miss it a little bit. (And if I do fewer posts, rest assured I am fine. And most likely in a pedicure chair moaning inappropriately.)

Today I look like this.

Tomorrow I will look like this.