I’m standing over my children’s beds, tucking them in for the third time tonight. They’ve been up to pee, drink water (meaning they’ll be up to pee again in a couple of hours), and get the hug that they swore I didn’t give them the first two times I tucked them in. This little scene has become such a regular occurrence that it’s now officially part of the bedtime routine. I’m not sure how we got here, but try as I might, I can’t get back to the deliberate and abbreviated routine that was pj’s, teeth, book, kiss, and lights out. The funny thing is that I recognize that they’re dragging this ritual out because it’s hard to admit that time has run out and another day is in the bag, but that’s also the same reason why I try to rush through bedtime like I’m Jeff Gordon’s pit crew. After the kids are tucked in I have an hour or so before I get just tired and I look forward to that one hour like a soldier longs for his far-away love.
I’m fairly certain that I’m not alone in this. I have a friend who has a nondescript box that she hides in her closet that is fully equipped with everything she needs to hit the ground running as soon as the kids are put to bed. She can dash up the stairs, dig out the box and choose any number of exciting and completely solo activities that she’s been dying to do. Sewing projects, and crafts mingle with the latest bodice-ripper romance with the cover that she doesn’t want to have to explain to the children. She confided in me that she can be in her pajamas and have a project in her hands in a record 90 seconds, so long as her husband doesn’t try to intercept her for his own bodice-ripping hour. Another one of my friends has an impressive stash of bath salts, bubbles and oils as well as all the latest gossip magazines so that she can get naked with Brangelina, Dr. McDreamy, and George on a moment’s notice.
If only I had known that eventually my “me time” would be whittled away into a few stolen moments, I may have enjoyed my college years a little more. Entire years where I only had to focus on me, and what did I do? I spent it dating practically every guy who smiled at me. And I’m sure you remember dating in college—one month you’re into Spanish-language films because you’re dating your Spanish lab teacher’s assistant, and the next month you’re marching at a peace rally with some free-spirit who picked you up at a coffee house open mic night. Ah, the wonder years—wonder what I was thinking! Now if someone gave me an entire day without a single mom-taxi pickup call, client lunch meeting, or a shopping list, I’m pretty sure I could come up with a way to fix the economy or cure cancer. Okay, so that’s an exaggeration, but give me a day and the possibilities are positively stimulating.
Alas, it’s not to be. Bedtime is running twenty minutes late and my son just reminded me that I haven’t washed his gym clothes yet. My “me time” has just been cut down to twelve minutes and some change. My washer just hit the spin cycle, so I’ve got a little free time--maybe should get started on curing cancer, but chances are I’ll just spend the time finding out what Brangelina was up to this weekend. What’s your plan?
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