Occasional Abandonment

I love my kids, really I do. I love my husband too but sometimes I want to tell him to get stuffed and then dash out the door and into my car. Well, last week I did just that-minus the 'get stuffed' part. I'd had the boys for 6 days solid, and Owen's been a miserable you-know-what since having his tonsils out. I've come to realize how integral to my sanity his 3 days/week at daycare are. Tim had to visit with family in Niagara last weekend and was gone for 5 hours. I know what you're thinking, 'what's 5 more hours after 6 full days?' I'll tell you what it is-it's 2 more viewings of Cars2 with a whiny brat on your lap. It's three more Jello related meltdowns. It's another diaper change for Simon while Owen whines at my leg. It's another scrub at the cat barf on the carpet. Tick Tock Tick Tock. I've gotta get the hell out of this place. The moment Tim walked in the door, he suggested that we try to get Owen out of the house for an hour. Here's how that conversation went:

Tim: "So where do you think we can go?"
Me: "We're not going anywhere. I'm going out. Don't call me, text only if there's bloodshed."

Then I grabbed my purse, mumbled a 'See ya suckas' and drove to my idea of paradise. Ikea. I bought crap I didn't need (like cupcake wrappers), it felt like therapy to throw stuff into my cart. A scented candle? Don't mind if I do. I strolled around avoiding eye contact with anyone because, damn it, I didn't want anyone to speak to me. Not even a friendly "how are you?" from a sales associate. I just wanted to be a face in the crowd on a busy Saturday. Nobody's wife, nobody's worn-out mother. I didn't intend to waste any precious alone time on pleasantries with strangers. Next stop, try on frilly dresses I don't intend to buy at Winners. That was fun but I wish my boobs were bigger. Only three more 'me' things to do: buy an iced capp, get an eyebrow wax and go to the LCBO for a bottle of Merlot.

I spent a total of three hours alone, I didn't think about my kids or Tim once. I breezed right past the kids clothes at Winners without glancing back. Well, maybe I thought of Owen once or twice. You see, a few times I felt like an escaped convict, certain that  someone would grab my arm and hiss "You're Owen's mom, right? Shouldn't you be at home with him while he's suffering?" I felt a pang of guilt at the thought, but pushed it away and pulled out a disasterous hot pink, skin tight number and made my way to the fitting room. Three hours by myself and I felt like a new woman. I felt human again, less like a frazzled, malfunctioning robot. When I got home, I was kinder to my family.

Maybe occassional abandonment is good for all of us.

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