Some evenings, I’ll throw Steve a peace sign then bail to the bathtub immediately after dinner, holing myself away in the quietest room of our house, and barring entry to anyone with a penis.
I wish it was a calm and graceful exit, but really I bolt with the urgency I imagine Quasimodo limped toward the gates of Notre Dame. Frantically locking the door, making sure I’m alone, then screaming “SANCTUARY!!!” as I melt into an hour of blessed solitude.
I wish it was a calm and graceful exit, but really I bolt with the urgency I imagine Quasimodo limped toward the gates of Notre Dame. Frantically locking the door, making sure I’m alone, then screaming “SANCTUARY!!!” as I melt into an hour of blessed solitude.
Because the deeper I wade into these motherhood waters, the more I find out what buoys or drowns me. Like when i have been danced on, sneezed on, pulled, cried, and climbed on all day…
I. Need. Alone.
No one touching me.
No one kissing me.
No one lining my flip-flops with dog poop and Legos.
No one affectionately forcing a half-eaten grape down my trachea.
As the only lady in a house full of males...I’m highly valued but gravely outnumbered.
As a morning person...the peak of my energy bell curve hits around 11 a.m., and then it’s just a slow, (sometimes burning) descent from there.
As an introvert...my boys’ constant bear hugs, high-pitched sound effects, and insatiable need for constant-yet-pointless conversation drain me dry by afternoon.
Bone dry.
I’ve handled this scratching-the-bottom in a number of diverse ways:
- Yelling
- Ignoring
- Fleeing
- Outsourcing
- More yelling
- Bribes
- Screens
- Tears
- Tub
- Standing in front of the garage door then bolting, braless and barefoot, the moment my husband’s car turns the corner.
*cough*
I don't recommend that last one.
Only a few of those have proven successful so, I’m trying what’s actually helped me tread water long enough to catch my breath:
Quiet time. A mandatory two hours after lunch and before school-pick-up-line-purgatory. I’m not productive in this time. I ask, “what can I not do when the boys are up?” Read, write, nap, TV, eat Rolos in the open.
Meal Planning. Since by dinner time, my skin already feels coated with their noise, it helps not to add bacon grease or marinara to the mix. There’s a peace that settles over my soul when food is simmering in the crock pot and all I’m responsible for in the mass chaos of meal time is boiling noodles or unthawing peas.
Getting away. When our out of town family and friends visit, I head for the hills. On particularly tough days, Steve shoulders bath time and bed while I roam the aisles of Target. I pay a babysitter every Friday so I can get a haircut, meet an article deadline, go shopping, or exercise. And I flee to the bathtub after dinner.
Stop feeling guilty. Being an introvert-mom is hard. I like my boys and enjoy spending time with them...but in small, spaced out increments. My internal batteries drain by interacting with people and get recharged by even 15 minutes alone. I can often be found laying flat on my closet floor in the morning, taking a few sanity minutes before the games begin. Especially before a play date, doctor appointment, or school meeting. After lots of practice in just accepting my personality, I can now meet the big blue, pleading eyes of my sons for “more fun, Mom!” after my max 28 minutes has hit, and gently say:
“Absolutely not. Mom needs to be away from all of you for two whole Daniel Tigers. The Netflix, not PBS version.”
You can do this, too.
You should do this, too.
Figure it out for you, because the trickle down from having some margin and reserve in your body and mind is boggling. Everyone’s happier, fuses are longer, sleep is easier, mom-guilt is less.
But, do it more than for the trickle down. Do it also because you are allowed to simply enjoy happiness as well. Just for you. Even if it’s just a latte in a quiet car, a long phone call with a good friend, or a double-bolted sanctuary in the tub.
