A couple of weeks ago, my husband texted me: “Are you going to speak to your sons tonight?”

I called immediately, apologized and explained that I’d been visiting some hot springs with a friend.

“Hot springs?” my husband asked in mock exasperation.

“整天写作后我们需要休息一下！”我回答了。

他在取笑；他知道我需要这个长期的写作静修。我们首先打算在2020年春天去，在我在丹佛（Denver）教周末研讨会之后，我和我的朋友向东北前往科罗拉多州的汽船泉。

“Stop abandoning us!” Gege shouted in the background.

“Did you tell them to say that?” I asked my husband. Even without seeing them, I could tell they were grinning.

Though I felt a bit guilty, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. When my husband and I trade off who travels for business, the solo parent sends frequent texts and photos of the boys, but scheduling a substantive call can be difficult.

When he’s traveling, though they miss him, I don’t recall them making the same accusation of abandonment. Perhaps it has to do with duration and frequency: He has traveled more often, but I’ve been gone for longer stretches of time. Or maybe it’s because I’m their mother, and there are gendered expectations to that role.

“Why are you on vacation without us?” Didi asked.

“这不是假期！”我笑着抗议。

“当我们整天工作，然后我们带您去游泳池，那是假期吗？”我丈夫问他们。男孩们似乎同意了，但事实是，他们习惯了在大流行期间让我们俩在一起，我和我的丈夫都在家工作。

“你什么时候回来?”迪迪问道。

“明天！”我答应了。我已经告诉他们，我将在今年夏天晚些时候在田纳西州举行的另一场写作会议上任教，但是他们可能已经忘记了（很可能会在我们分道扬ways时再次指责我遗弃）。

My weekend workshop students were inspiring — diligently pecking away at their computers and scratching into their notebooks. After the isolation and social distancing of the pandemic, the chance to write together felt almost sacred.

Afterward on my writing retreat, I made a breakthrough on a character and also mapped out my class for the fall semester.

On my first business trip of the year in early spring, I had a near meltdown when I spilled globs of hand sanitizer trying to refill a travel-sized one. “I’ve forgotten my systems!” I exclaimed. Now I have my packing and travel routines squared away; I take pride in my self-sufficiency.

As with everything else, we’re not yet back to normal with travel, which remains more onerous than before the pandemic: the way the ear loops of a KN95 mask feel like they’re sawing off that appendage; the coughing and sneezing of travelers who don’t bother to cover their noses and mouth with a hand, let alone a mask; the haywire flight schedules, rising fuel costs, jam-packed planes and staffing stretched thin; and the ever-present fear that indoor activities necessary for my livelihood could put me at risk.

“Isthiswhen I get COVID?” I’ll ask myself, every time I walk into an event. I’ve looked at the calendar, thinking, “This would be a good week to get it.”

Not that I want to catch it — and risklong COVID— and not that the coronavirus will take my travel schedule into consideration. During the recent spring surge, I heard about families who missed milestones like high school graduations and weddings or who got stuck in hotels abroad (before theCDC recently stoppedrequiring a negative viral test to re-enter) because COVID caught up with them at last.

But I’ve come to realize how important — pandemic or not — the time away is, not only for my kids’ independence but also because professional fulfillment paradoxically makes me a better mother when I am present.

当我从机场回家时，男孩们把我包裹着一个拥抱。我做了一大堆洗衣房，几天后，再次收拾好。