This Father's Day didn't come with a perfectly wrapped gift and breakfast in bed. With help from my mother-in-law I did manage to replace my husband's favorite coffee mug.

I didn't bother to wrap it. I simply tossed it to him on Saturday night (one week ago), thinking the following Sunday was Father's Day.

As I have struggled to get back on my feet after a month long illness, my exhausted husband didn't even want to go to church on Father's Day unless I was going to be attending as well.

I suppose after three weeks of wrestling little girls into smocked dresses, hair bows and dress shoes, he'd finally reached his limit. I can't blame him; I start counting down the hours until he'll be home from work before my feet even hit the floor every morning.

I have consoled him with the fact that history will be made this weekend. In the first time since we have had children, my husband and I will be alone in our house for three days.

My in-laws have invited all three of our children to spend the weekend with them in Alabama, and after much careful consideration, we agreed.

It was a tough decision to make.

We weighed the pros and cons and considered how each child would fare without us for approximately one-tenth of a millisecond before screaming through the phone at my mother-in law that my children would be absolutely thrilled to spend the weekend on the farm.

My oldest two girls were genuinely thrilled when they found out they would be going to the farm for the weekend. Sadie, our baby, clapped and cheered because her sisters were excited, so I counted that as a sign that she couldn't wait to get to the farm and get dirty.

On top of the fact that all three of my children love to roll in mud like little pigs, ride horses and try to hold baby chickens until they almost get hen-pecked, there is the added bonus of getting to spend time with their cousins.

In addition, my mother-in-law who has worked for the Post Office for many years is going to take the girls on a tour of her work. This may not be a big deal to you, but to 4-year-old Emma, it's like a back-stage pass to a KISS concert. She's been obsessed with mail and the mailman since we watched "Elmo's World: Mail Time."

Every day when the mailman comes to deliver our mail, he is greeted by ten tiny fingers holding open the mail slot and a large pair of blue-eyes peeking out at him.

How will I fold laundry if there is no one standing next to me to unfold it at the same pace?

Will I be able to urinate without a preschooler standing beside me cheering, "Yay Mommy! Pee-pee in the potty! You did it!" Will I remember how to actually unroll toilet paper from the roll instead of picking it up off the floor after my 18-month-old has unraveled the entire roll in my bathroom floor?

How will I know it's time to wake up in the morning? There will be no one here to smack me in the forehead with a sippy cup at 7 a.m. and scream, "I want juice!" Will I know what to buy at the grocery store without a little person constantly throwing everything in the cart that has trans-fat and high-fructose corn syrup?

It's going to be hard to take care of myself without my kids reminding me what to do at every turn.

For the good of my family, I am willing to relinquish my children for 36 whole hours.

For my children to have a relationship with their grandparents and their cousins, I'm just going to have to learn how to get by.

Because that's what being a mother is all about: sacrifice.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her, robinschicks@gmail.com. To comment on this column and others, go online to www.moultrienews.com)