All By Myself

For those who noticed that there was no post yesterday, the reason is simple: my office has no door. In our home's lovely open floor plan, the builder obviously did not feel it was necessary for the home office to include a way to lock your children out. Otherwise, I would gladly have done it and written a post about how much I wished to be ALONE. With three children under 6, there is always a short person following me around the house. If I'm lucky, while doing something like folding laundry, I get a Phineas and Ferb-esque, "Hey Mom, whatcha doin?" Some days I simply can't keep myself from replying, "Mowing the grass," but alas, sarcasm is lost on the wee ones.
Sometimes I get up and walk into the other room, and immediately hear, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Where are you?"
Me: "I'm in the bathroom! What do you need?"
Child I'm trying to avoid: "Where?"
Me: "In my bathroom! WHAT do you need?"
Child who has found me and is now standing outside the locked door jiggling the handle: "Mom, are you in there?"
Me: "YES. Do you need something?"
Child: "Umm, no, not really. I just wanted to know where you were."
Insert mental image of me banging my head against the wall here. I love my kids with all my heart, but there are times that I just feel the need to scream, "For the love of all that is good and holy, LEAVE ME ALONE!" Luckily, I can usually rein that particular urge in. Most of the time. When I don't, the looks of shock and amazement on my children's faces are priceless. It's as if they want to say, "Why, Mother dear, whatever is the matter? We have clearly missed the thousands of subtle hints that you wished to sit in your room by yourself. Why on Earth are you yelling?"
It's always good to find out that you're not alone. A friend once told me a compelling story of motherhood, privacy, and ice cream. Apparently, she was feeling the urge to consume a Coke float unmolested, and her two daughters were having none of it. After emptying the ice cream carton and pouring the last drop of Coke in the house on her creation, she sat down to eat. As we all know, the sound of a mother's butt hitting a chair, particularly to eat, sets off the children's alarm system in very short order. So there she was, surrounded by two hungry wolves kids, both begging for a bite and jostling for position. I can't be sure, but I'm willing to bet there was some whining going on as well. "Mom, can I have some of that?" "Nope." "Well, will you make me one?" "No. We don't have any more Coke or ice cream." "Then can I have some of yours?!?!?" "NO." What happened next was one of the most awesome Mommy moments in history. My friend proceeded to lock herself in the bathroom and eat the entire thing. ALONE. Way to go, Mom! Now I feel less guilty about the fact that I looked forward to my twins' nap time with joyful anticipation simply because I got to eat in peace.
Yet another secret my friends with kids didn't let me in on: when you give birth to a baby, somewhere wrapped up in all the blood and placenta and crap that follows the baby out, there is a sprinkle packet of guilt. It is the job of the nurse who is in charge of your care to retrieve this tiny packet, sneak up behind you, and pour it on top of your head during those first blissful moments when your baby is quiet and your drugs haven't worn off yet. Then those tiny particles of guilt soak right through your skin and into your brain.
Guilt is what keeps you from doing things for yourself because of your kids. You know, things like locking the door and saying, "You guys fend for yourselves. I need a nap and I'm going to take it!" Mommy guilt keeps you from buying things for yourself instead of your kids. Sure, I've worn the same two pairs of shorts for the last two summers, but my kids really NEED those sixty dollar dresses. Times three at my house. And by the way, twins come with a double helping. Do something like change a baby's diaper, and you will immediately feel compelled to do the same for the other one. Then you will feel guilty about referring to your second child as "the other one." True story. More on mommy guilt later. My little cherubs are already reminding me that I haven't given them my undivided attention for the last 20 minutes. What was I thinking?