When walking to the mailbox feels like a vacation


There are literally entire days when I wait for the sound of that low humming motor to come ever closer to my house. I know exactly when it's at my mailbox without even looking. And it always shows up at the time of day when we've all had enough of each other. The toddler is screaming for the 23rd cracker, the preschooler keeps asking for "more juice", the older boys are either wrestling or in competition with one another.

Which is the perfect time to exclaim over the never ending banter, "mommy will be right back!!"

The boys could care less and as I begin to walk through the front door I begin to wonder if they can survive 60 seconds without a referee. The toddler screams louder and the preschooler pops her thumb in her mouth and stares at me to signify she's trying to cope with the fact that I am walking out of the house without filling her cup with juice.

The minute that door shuts and I take my first breath of fresh air, I just sigh. I can still hear the commotion and semi-chaos happening within the walls but as I slowly make my way down the driveway (sometimes, very slowly) the noises become distant and for those 60 seconds, I feel free.

When you're a SAHM, sometimes your house can feel like a prison. And sometimes you'd just like to be a little less popular among the "inmates". But while I spend my mini-vacay in the driveway each day, I am reminded (now that my head is clear), that the life within my "prison" is to be celebrated. It's a life that some women long for, and a life that some women miss terribly as their children are grown and gone. I'm thankful for my crazy, meltdown afternoons and I'm also thankful for the 60 seconds of "me time" everyday because it's just long enough for me to regain my perspective, pull up my boot straps and walk back into the beautiful chaos.

And then hopefully, by then, it's naptime.:)

Love, Alicia