Namaste

Yesterday I played hooky.  After I put Sam and Kenny on the school bus, dropped Stancey and Madison off at the high school and Max off at daycare, I stopped back home to finish getting ready for work. 

But my head ached and all I really wanted was a nap. 

I don’t know where the idea came from but it overtook me as I parked my van in the driveway. 

Why not take some sick time for me?

I meant only to nap and then go into work.  But after a strong cup of coffee, my migraine suddenly dissipated.  I sat back and listened to the quiet and I thought.

When was the last time I had been alone in my house for more than 20 minutes? 

Five years ago?  A decade?

After making that realization, there was no way I could go back into work.  I needed this day. 

For two hours, I spoke to no one—not the dog, not the cat, not the phone.  I watched the Today Show, peeled apples, and contemplated life as a monk.


But also I felt guilty.  What kind of mother drops her toddler off at daycare and goes back home to do nothing? 

In my defense, I was drinking coffee and not a good cabernet.  So maybe I’m not such a bad mother after all.

For six glorious hours, I did laundry, made apples sauce, and cleaned my bedroom…all without watching any children.  I even attempted to throw in a Yoga session at the end of my day.  But as I reclined into corpse pose, I stopped.  With warrior-like stamina, I maintained that pose for 20 solid minutes.  It was blissful.

The only defect in my six hours of solitude was the one recoiling thought of what my life will become once all the children are gone.  They’ll be no more excuses for dreams unfulfilled because my beautiful distractions will be gone. 

You see, I’ve been a mother for nearly half my life.

And I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be me. 

Short of making a new Thompson, I think I’m going to need a few more years and a couple more hooky days to figure this out. 

Namaste.