I’ve written before how my family often doesn’t know where I am. A couple days a week my kids get home from college by 12:30 and I’m not always home, they don’t even try and find me. It worries me a little bit because I wonder if in my absence they are plotting a takeover. Maybe they called a locksmith to change the locks. Probably not, they like my cooking. But I’m not sure they would look for me unless it was time for dinner.

I’m quite thorough when I announce my weekend activities, starting well in advance of the event. A couple weekends ago I was at a crafting retreat at my church. It’s a nice annual get together for hobbyists of all types. We started Friday morning, continued into the night, left our stuff, went home to our own beds, returned for breakfast, and wrapped it up by 10:00 Saturday night.

For me it’s always been a way to spread out a large scrapbooking project. This year I was determined to finish my youngest daughter’s school albums. I finished my oldest’s albums last year at that retreat. Because the reality that major undertaking was ending was both poignant and a relief for me, I started announcing it a month in advance.

Then the week before it happened, I prepared them for my absence. I told them about leftovers that needed to be eaten, reminded them to feed the dog, do the dishes, and other housekeeping tasks. Each one of the residents in my home, whom I refer to as my family, asked every time I mentioned another point, “and where are you going?” My husband and oldest daughter I’m not as surprised at because it didn’t have to do with them, but you’d think my youngest, whose school albums I worked on, would have remembered.

To add insult to injury, I’m hardly ever gone on weekends. I work from home, I’m a domestic goddess (at least when it comes to laundry and dinner), and weekends for me are the same as all the other days of the week except there are extra people to navigate around. I’m like a piece of furniture around here.

I suppose my constant presence could be the reason they don’t miss me. Maybe when they get home, if they don’t notice my car is gone, they just assume I’m somewhere in the house. The Phantom of the Dwelling, staying out of sight until it’s time to make dinner each evening or do laundry on Mondays.

I wonder how long it would take for them to look for me. Until they’re hungry? When they ran out of groceries? They’d file a missing person’s report. When the police showed up at our door to question my family and get an idea of where to look, it would be a very interesting conversation, indeed:

“When was the last time you saw her.”

“We’re not sure, but we think she was here when we left for school this morning. Or maybe that was yesterday morning. It’s Friday, we didn’t go to school today.”

“Is her car gone?”

“Yes! (high five each other because they got that one right)

“Does she have her cell phone with her?”

“Yes, but we already texted her and she didn’t answer.”

“What did you text her?”

“Are you cooking dinner?”

“No wonder she didn’t answer.”

Then they’d put posters up with the only picture they could find, the cartoon me off my website with the caption: “Mom’s lost. If found, tell her we’re hungry.”

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. You can read more of her writing and her blog on her website livingwithgleigh.com, on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh.”or follow her on Twitter @livewithgleigh. Her column is also available at maplevalleyreporter.com under the Life section.