Sometimes - while sitting in my living room surrounded by broken plastic and dirty boy socks - I dream about life without children.

I'd be 20 pounds lighter with no excuses not to exercise. My hair would always be fixed with no candy-coated fingers to get tangled in its curls. I'd decorate my own room, clean my desk, write a book and embark on a stunning journalism career that would change the fabric of human relationships.

Or so I used to think. That was before I spent a week with no kids at all.

My 12-year-old stepson, Taylor, spends each summer in Kansas City. Last week, 6-year-old Sammy went to his grandparents' house.

As I waived to Sammy from my driveway, I imagined all the miles I would run and all the closets I would organize - you know, later. First, I needed some quiet time in the backyard. Maybe sip a beer just because I could.

By the second day of this, I realized something: Having no kids was actually hazardous to my health.

Apparently, I only buy fruits and vegetables to force the kids to eat them. With no kids with messy rooms for which to set a good example, I had no reason to pick up my own. And exercising? Well, it's not that my kids keep me from exercising as much as nagging kids is my exercise. Nothing motivates me to get moving like the sight of two boys sitting like comatose lumps in front of the Nickelodeon.

"That's it!" I'll yell. "Things are going to change around here!" And I'll force the kids to put on their shoes and come outside for a walk.

But with no kids to sit like lumps, the couch looked way too empty. So I sat on it.

In the few days we had to ourselves, my husband and I went to two movies - complete with large pops and buttered popcorn. We watched three zombie movies. We sat outside in lawn chairs and drank beers because, like I said, we could.

We cleaned nothing, walked no where. I gained four pounds.

Four days in, Sammy called. He missed me. Would I come get him the next morning?

(Yes! Yes! Yes!)

Well, honey, if you really want me to, I answered.

But by the next morning, Sammy decided he could stay a couple more days. So I sat on the couch and ate the leftover camping cookies I told the kids they couldn't have.

Now I know: Kids don't keep me from doing things. Kids are the reason I do anything at all.

Sammy is home now. Taylor will be home from Kansas City in four days and counting.

And then, things are going to change around my house, by God.

I've got an extra four pounds I need to nag off.

Reach features editor Kristy Gray at (307) 266-0586 or kristy.gray@trib.com.