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Monday, November 05, 2007

Conspiracy Theory #587 - "Alone Time"

I often feel a bit like a mouse in a maze, being observed by men in white coats with their pocket protectors and clipboards. I can see it now:

"Let's introduce the subject to the idea of 'alone time,' and see how frazzled she gets trying to actually get any."

Alright, I figured out a long time ago that when you have kids, you forfeit having so much as potty time to yourself.

...and that's why Moms, in all their infinate wisdom, came up with NAP TIME.



My girls can be sound asleep, and I'll fool myself into actually thinking I might have an hour or so to myself, to read, or write, or (joy of all joys) clean - but I always manage to forget that one little factor that always robs me of any chance of time to myself.

My husband.

He can be occupied all day long with his job or games or sports - that is, until I try to do anything that doesn't involve meal preparation, scrubbing finger paint out of carpet, or potty training. Now, what is it exactly about men and children, that keeps them from understanding that a closed door means "stay out," or even "I'm busy, please knock first, and maybe wait at least 5 minutes in between interruptions to tell me how funny Stewie was trying to get the cookies off the counter, or how the Colts were totally cheated by their 4 point loss"?

At the risk of sounding bitter here, I must say I had another wrench thrown into my gears when we moved into a house with no locks on the doors - not like they ever stopped my husband before, but at least they slowed everyone down a few seconds.

I've even gone so far as to spend the extra few minutes gathering heavy objects to form barricades - only to have my husband and children work that much harder and longer to get through them.

I'm at a loss here. Am I doomed to a future of having the bejeezus scared out of me, when I'm taking a calming shower and turn around to find a tiny face peeping around the curtain at me? To waking to a child thisclose to my face grinning widely at 6 a.m. every morning? To the revolving doors on my bathroom and bedroom, and the faces that pop in at the worst times proclaiming, "Hiiiiiii Momma!" just long enough to derail whatever I'm doing?


And these are the times, I'm told, that I'll look back on and smile at. I know it's true, but come on - I could look back and smile on peaceful times, too.
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