My house is very, very quiet. About an hour ago the power went off, and nobody screamed. One dirty plate sits on the kitchen counter. Two dirty wine glasses stand next to it. Because I didn’t do the dishes last night.
Alone time is so rare I’m not sure I know how to do it anymore. I paused my movie four times, and not because it was boring. And not because someone small needed more chicken fingers and someone else small spilled a gallon of milk. I paused the movie so I could mow the lawn. Later I paused it so I could take a shower. Then I paused it again because I thought I heard someone walking around upstairs and for a moment I was very afraid and then I thought, no, this is my weekend off and no murderer is going mess that up. The murderer? It was the dog, who looks confused. “Why is no one leaning on me and pretending I’m a belt?” the dog is thinking.
Don’t get me wrong. I am very, very happy right now. I’m an introvert, and introverts requires lots of alone time, and do you want to guess how much alone time a mom of three gets on a daily basis? I know, I’m laughing too.
It’s just… I used to be really good at being alone, and now I’m not. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it again. Sunday, when the van rolls in and boys spill out, the dog and I will exchange a glance. “Remember?” that glance will say. “Remember how the power went off and nobody screamed?” And we’ll nod, and hug the Returning Conquerors of the Wilderness. Who will hug us back as if it’s been a month.