“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.