I want to run away. It sounds selfish, I know that. Hear me out, though okay? Come with me for minute. Look around and see the couch cushions on the floor, toys strew around, dirty dishes on the table, and cat barf on the floor; I already cleaned all this up multiple times. Listen to my kids screaming at each other, fighting for a turn with a toy neither one of them was interested in until the other kid was, my husband asking me a billion questions about stuff I quite frankly don’t have the energy to think about, and the phone ringing. Now, step into my mind… the shrill of the phone reminds me I forgot to email my friend back, which reminds me that I still need to update the MOPS directory, which reminds me to message another friend about a play date, which reminds me to email a picture from a previous play date with a different kid to his mom, which makes me think of three of my own friends I haven’t hung out with in a super long time, which reminds me that I forgot to look at the email from Haley’s teacher, which reminds me that Sean has a field trip tomorrow that I have to attend, which causes my mood to go to the southern tip of south because I thought I had a morning to myself tomorrow to work.
Oooh… listen…
“MOM! Haley blahblahblahblah!”
“But MOOOMM-UH! Sean just blahblahblahblah!”
“No I didn’t. You blahblahblah.”
More screaming.
I take in this scene and think, “Is this what I signed up for?”
Yup. It is. And normally, dear reader, I take it all in stride. I serve, I cater, I teach, I comfort, I referee, I partner, I scold, I hug, I play, I kiss, I explain, I watch, I listen, I cook, I clean, I fix, I find, I cultivate, I promise, I deliver, I work, I decide, I plan, I ask, I tell, I drive, I call, I email, I do, I run, I laugh, I fulfill, I pray, I warn, I offer, I juggle, I shop, I encourage, I learn, I organize, I implement, and I evaluate. At the end of the day I pour a gigantic glass of red wine and reflect. I look around and assess that everything is good. Bring on tomorrow.
But right now, my tanks are empty. My everyday tanks… gone. My backup fuel… sucked dry. The result? Every cry, every demand, every little “Mom?” “Mamma?” “Mommy?” “Hon’?” “Hey Leanne?” no matter how tiny, soft, or innocent causes me to want to walk right out the front door, get in the car and drive away. I won’t. But I want to.
Instead, I escaped to my shower just for an excuse to be in my own space. I cried a little bit. That happens when my tanks are empty.
Motherhood is hard. Much of what I do is taken for granted… it’s one of the expected downsides of the job. I love my kids. I love my husband. I know what I do matters. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I need some time alone. A chance to refill my tanks, charge my emotional batteries. I need longer than one hour. I need longer than two hours. I need longer than one day, for crying out loud!
I held my son tonight while he whimpered against my chest. It was the least I could do, since I was the one who made him cry. He asked me if I still loved him even when I was mad. Of course I do. We walked hand in hand up the stairs. I snuggled down with him in his bed, stroked his head and prayed with and for him. “Thanks Momma.” Friend, I tell you in that moment, I got just the littlest bit of a fill-up. Now I sit here alone in my living room (husband is out for the evening), expressing myself through words, listening to the soft sounds of Norah Jones, drinking wine and crying gentle tears… taking in the quiet moment to refill because leaving is not the answer and solitary days away are not reality right now. These tiny snapshots of time are all I have… so I make the most of it because in approximately eight hours, the opening scene to this blog post will play out all over again–after the field trip.
