Chronicles of a SAHM

I Need a Better Hiding Place

Stay-at-Home-Moms (SAHMs) typically look forward to the end of the day, when every one and every thing is quiet. That’s when we go to our hiding place. My hiding place happens to be my bathroom. I can close the door and think, or dream, or beautify, or just sit quietly and meditate.

Recently however, my hiding place has become no longer that. It has been compromised. This is what has been happening lately:

As I’m sitting on my vanity chair, I hear from a distance, “Mommm.” It’s my five year old daughter. She should be sleep, but has decided that finding out my location is a top priority- as I had not received clearance from her to disappear. I know she’s coming, so I sit as still and stay as quiet as I can.

“Mommmm. Dad, where’s mom?” I listen for his response, because of course, he’s got my back – I am he, he is me. We are one. And of course, he knows it’s after her bedtime and he needs to direct her to go back to her room and go to bed. But no. He tells her my exact location. “She’s in the bathroom.”

Snitch.

So, now I hear footsteps coming closer to the door. “Mom, are you in there?”

No response from me…I’m hiding.

“Mom, are you in there?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. What do you want?”

“Are you on the potty?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“Did you have to boo boo?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“Are you mad?”

Face palm. “Omg. What do you want? I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Can you put on my band-aid?”

“SERIOUSLY? GO ASK YOUR DAD!”

Now, I’m rushing through the shower just so I can place my hands around my husband’s neck. He heard all of this, but didn’t rush to help me (or her for that matter). I love my kids with my entire heart, but I definitely need a new hiding place.


Chronicles of a SAHM

Nostalgia

I was making a hot dog for my daughter, when I turned and looked at this bag with one hot dog bun left in it.  It brought back a wave of nostalgia that I haven’t experienced in a while.  It reminded me of backyard parties and picnics at the local parks with opened pop cans overturned on the table and half eaten hamburgers and potato chips left on a plate.  I remembered my uncle cooking over an open flame charcoal pit with a beer can close by (for seasoning *wink wink*), playing volleyball with a net that had missing strings, kids running around tossing water balloons and screaming loud enough to “raise the dead” my mom would say; bees flying over head and ants crawling on the table looking for an uneaten morsel of food.  Wow. Good times.

But it was just a hot dog bag.