Thursday, October 1, 2009

Do not disturb. At least for a little bit.



I am very much looking forward to this lazy weekend ahead of us. Well, as lazy as it can get with four kids.

I am looking forward to a little quality family time.

But paradoxically, I am also looking forward to a Saturday morning by myself, since I can't remember the last time I was alone.

Well...there was that time I went to the bathroom at around 11:53 a.m. on Tuesday and nobody opened the door or screamed my name.

Ahhh...sweet bliss. To pee in peace.

No, I'm talking about alone, alone. Like leaving the house with no one in tow. Like walking around town and having people think, "Look at that young lady jauntily skipping through the streets without a care in the world. She must not have any children or major worldly obligations. If only I could be so carefree as she."

As if.

I was at the end of my rapidly fraying rope two nights ago. Not sure why. Just because. Probably because my house looks like a bomb went off. Probably because my kids had found yet another reason to complain or fight about something. Probably because I'm 35, with a college degree in teaching, yet I was baffled over a second grade math worksheet. Probably because I'm worried about my M-I-L.

Bill asked me what was wrong, and I bitched kindly pointed out to him that I couldn't remember the last time I was alone. He was all, "Honey, but you took that relaxing bubble bath last night." And I was all, "Yeah, you mean the one when Annabel and George busted through the door and started taking off their socks thinking it was pool time? Yeah. As relaxing as that was, it doesn't count."

I don't need to write the whole disclaimer paragraph where I state how much I love my kids and my husband, blah, blah, blah...because you already know it. I'm a firm believer that it doesn't make me a bad wife or mother if I think, "I have to get the eff out of this house all by myself, even if it's only for a half hour."

Wait. Wasn't that just a disclaimer paragraph?

Can you tell my batteries need a big, fat recharge? With our crazy, hectic schedules lately, I can't remember the last time I even went to CVS for tampons, "all by my lonesome," as my grandma says. A girl should be so lucky to go on a tampon-buying excursion by herself and not have her child, (ahem...George) say loudly, "Mom, why you gotta buy more of those things that you stick up your butt?"

Hey there, cranky blogger. Back away from your keyboard. You're starting to sound shrill.

Sorry, but I need to get this out. It makes me feel so much better.

Bill is a strong advocate of my alone time, and goes out of his way to make sure I get it when I need it, because he is well aware that if mama ain't happy then nobody's happy.

But he didn't quite understand why I was so cranky. So I bitched calmly explained to him that it's because he is alone all day. "But I'm not alone. I'm at work. I'm around lots of people." he insisted. "Oh yeah you are alone," I bitched kindly insisted back. "You drive all alone in that isolation chamber of a car, listening to anything you want to on the radio. Then you walk all alone from the parking garage to the office. Then you go sit in your office all by yourself. You don't have to announce where you're going all the time. You get to have riveting adult conversations with your colleagues about something other than bowel movements and why it's important to have them in the toilet instead of your pants."

I wouldn't want to switch places with Bill. At all. He has a stressful career, but does a great job balancing home and work. I know how lucky I am that I don't have to work outside the home. I know that I will miss this someday. I know that someday I will be in my empty house all by myself and think how unnervingly quiet it is.

Blahbity blah blah.

If you are one of those moms that has no idea what I'm talking about and could spend every single second of every single day with your angels, then yay for you. Truly. But I ask you, a.) what are you smoking? and b.) is it legal? and if the answer to b is "yes," then c.) can I have some?

I know. I know. I sound like such a whiny complainer. I'm horrible. I'm so lucky. I should appreciate my kids more. I know. I tell myself these things all the time. I agree with you.

But please. I ca-rave alone time, even if it's just once a week so that I can stay fair and balanced. Like Fox News. And a gal needs to pee and bathe and shower in peace. So Bill reminded me that we have nothing going on Saturday morning, so why don't I go to the mall by myself?

Why yes, I will, thank you. It's not that I haven't been shopping recently. I have. Many times. But always with a purpose, and always with a child. Or two. Or four. So if you see me at the mall this weekend, I will be silently pitying all the moms there that are chasing their kids around and warning them by counting to three. Maybe I'll get some Starbucks and just sit on a bench. Maybe I'll take the little purse this time, instead of the big-ass tote bag purse that doubles as a diaper bag, even though I don't have a child in diapers anymore. I won't have to ask anyone every ten minutes if they have to pee, lest they pee in their pants and it drips down their leg and lands on the industrial carpeting at Waldenbooks. (True story.) Maybe I'll take a stack of clothing to the dressing room and try it all on, and buy nothing. Or something. Maybe I'll start my Christmas shopping early.

And then I'll come home fully refreshed and ready for a big group hug from my crew, and I'll jump right back into the craziness of our house, and appreciate it once again.

Because life is pretty darn great around here.

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