Every week I chant this in my head, to the tune of that really crap Rebecca Black song that she released on You Tube a few months ago, making her infamous for all the wrong reasons.
I wonder if anyone has told her yet that her fame was for the wrong reasons?
Anyway there’s a little bit of sick forming at the back of my throat at the thought of that song, so best I move on.
Monday’s are my Friday's. Not that they signal the start of my weekend, more that they are the highlight of my week.
It is my one single kiddy-free day, besides work on Saturday's. It's responsibility-free bliss for an entire uninterrupted 4 ½ hours.
Miss5 goes to school, and the twins go to Daycare.
Except in the event of a public holiday, or school holidays, or illness.
All of which have happened over consecutive Monday’s for a month and a half.
SIX WEEKS without my one single day off. Which is not actually a full day at all. It is 270 minutes. It hardly constitutes a full day. But it is the most silent and relaxing 270 minutes of my entire 10,080 minute week.
It’s like the universe has been transpiring against me. Between Easter, school holidays, public holidays and illness, I have not ventured out of the house for more than a grocery emergency or school run.
As much as I joke, I felt like I was starting to lose my individual identity a little bit. Sound a bit dramatic? Probably. But, at the time, I felt like I was “just” the mother. I know there is no such thing as “just” a mother. We are all awesome super-humanly talented multi-tasking superstars. But that shit isn’t easy. Not when you can’t even escape for a coffee, some window shopping, 15 minutes of peace and silence not shattered by bloody curdling screams punctuated with indignant and horrified screeches of “Muuuuuum….the twinnies are licking me”, followed closely by “Muuuuum…the twinnies are sitting on my head and bouncing”.
I know, I know, it was totally inappropriate parenting for me to respond with “So lick them back”, and “just move so they fall off and land on the floor”. All without looking up even once, just in case they were doing all of this at a great height or near anything sharp and pointy.
So anyway it was all getting me down a bit. I lost my mojo (if I ever had it in the first place). I couldn’t be bothered doing anything. Cooking (how many sandwiches can my family eat in a week? A lot...), cleaning, kid-maintenance, me-maintenance (apologies to #1 Hubby for the electric static shocks caused by my legs), anything. I was just going through the motions each day.
But now I’m back.
On Monday I went to the movies, without children, and watched something that was not animated. It even had some brief full-frontal lady boy nudity. I didn’t have to officiate any shoving and poking, stop a child from climbing over the seats, pick up spilt popcorn umpteen times, mop up spilt drinks, or make numerous trips to the toilets.
Then I went for coffee. In a real café. No golden arches in sight. No kiddy playground. In fact, I don’t even think this place had a Babycino on the menu! I consumed my coffee at my own leisure, while still hot. Then I thought, screw it, I’ll have another. Because I could. Because there was no child trying to eat the plastic covered menu, no child shoving chips up their nose, no child decanting the condiments. Bliss.
This is an actual sign from a cafe somewhere in Asia, stating that kids are not permitted during school hours. Now that's what I'm talking about!
Then I casually walked through the shops, taking my time. I could try on clothing without having three “consultants” in attendance in my cubicle, deftly whipping open the curtain at the worst possible moment, while my pale arse is poking out. I did not even have to return to a shop to search for a child or return a stolen service bell.
Finally, I picked the twins up from Daycare. I had actually missed them, and I was super happy to see them. And no, I did not consume any alcohol in order to obtain such euphoric feelings. Then I went to school and got Miss5, and actually listened intently, with interest, to her babbling on about doing the same stuff she does every day, with the same friends. Unlike my usual absent minded “Ahuh…right…hmm…yeah? That’s great….” while trying to decide between red and white wine with dinner.
What? As if you didn’t already know I’m a crap parenting role model.
That 4.5 hours / 270 minutes / 16,200 seconds of adult time does wonders for me as a parent. I’m refreshed, renewed, happy and ready to seriously enjoy my kids again.
Now if only I could do it every other day, I would be one seriously shit-hot and awesome Mother for the other 7 hours of the day that they are awake.
