Homebody

“Take a day, babe.  Get out of the house because I can’t do anything with them when you’re around.  They only want you when they see you.”

My husband was right but where would I go?  After a week of very little sleep, I’m exhausted.   And to be honest, all I really want to do is stay home.

But with a high of 40 degrees and a 1, 3 and 5 year-old in tow, kicking my husband out of the house left him with limited options.

“I’ve got some errands to run- I’ll take them with me.”

Music to my ears, but how long would I have?  I didn’t care.  I parked my rear on the recliner and watched a tv show for 30 minutes before starting dinner and calling my mom.

She lives only five minutes away and comes over to play with the kids twice a week but we spoke for over an hour- because we could without distraction.  It. Was. Amazing.

I folded a gargantuan pile of laundry, chatted with a few friends and sat down to write this article.  Not an incredibly momentous day, but after 3 hours alone, I felt renewed.

In my heart of hearts, I am a homebody.  These days, however, I never get to be home alone.  I miss the one-bedroom apartment I had to myself on the third floor of a 100 year-old house right after college.  I ate, slept and woke when I wanted and after years of roommates throughout boarding school and college, I finally didn’t have to share a thing.

My husband returned with a screaming three-year-old in tow.  She was mad he was returning a movie we rented- in other words, the world had just ended.  For a moment, it felt like the afternoon was a wash, but once we had her tucked in to bed, I reflected on my afternoon with gratitude.

A break from the daily chaos in the comfort of my own home.  Silence.  Solitude.

I sure do miss that old apartment.

But never enough to trade it for this house full of noise and love.

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