It is unbelievable how light child-free travel is. About every five minutes, I feel certain I've dropped something critically important or left one of the boys on the plane. I have but one bag with me, and I've read six chapters in two different books. This is utterly surreal.I just ate lunch quietly at Cat Cora, enjoying a lovely edamame-avocado hummus with olives and pita. There were no spills, no small hands discovering old gum under the table and then putting those hands into their owner's mouth, no refrains of "please, please do not touch the potty seat" while also making sure I don't get sprayed by rogue pee (little Ol shoots at 2:00 which makes the stream's direction a bit random). But I also haven't had my legs attacked by a hug or my cheeks covered with kisses, and I feel the slightest bit teary in a vaguely schizo way: eager for this week alone, kinda lonesome for a little hand enveloped in mine. My heart aches some.