I consider it akin to a miracle when I open my eyes in the morning, peer at the clock and realize it is 8:35 a.m. Even though I escorted my 4-year old to the bathroom at 4:00 a.m. and spent a couple of minutes rocking her, a night with only one interruption and a wake-up time after 7:00 a.m. is a delight and also more proof that I have very low standards.
What’s lovely about my youngest child reaching the age of 4 and a half is that she no longer demands that I rouse from bed at an ungodly hour. She didn’t sleep through the night until she was eleven months old. My twins used to wake up every morning between 5:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. which is just wrong on so many levels. My husband had mercy on me in those long-ago days and would wake up early so I could sleep longer. He rocks.
Today, after “sleeping in,” we finally got moving after 9:00 a.m. My husband went to get donuts (around here, Saturday is called “Donut Day”) and I showered. While still in the shower, the phone rang and my daughter, the self-appointed phone-answerer around here, brought me the phone. I asked the woman on the phone if I could call her back. I was sure she could hear the showering water, but she told me later that she did not. (I wonder if talking on the phone in the shower could electrocute me. Anybody know?)
My husband has learned after many years together (almost 20!) that I require some time alone each week for optimum mental health. Back when the twins were babies, I had a local friend who had given birth to three kids in three years. She told me that her husband set her free for six hours each Saturday . . . and I remember being so jealous and wondering why my husband didn’t understand that I needed six hours away each Saturday. As it turns out, he just needed more time to understand. Also, when I was gone for six straight days (my longest absence from home ever), he experienced what it’s like to be stuck in a cycle of satisfying the needs of four kids hour after hour, day after day.
Now, he really understands, even more than he did before.
So, he doesn’t make me grovel and beg. He just assumes that I will leave the house and I will stay away as long as possible. Which I do.
Today, I went to three thrift stores where I mainly bought books. I love books with an irrational love, with an addictive love, with a love that cannot be satisifed with a library card. I also saw the worst movie in recent memory: Perfect Stranger with Halle Berry and Bruce Willis. Horrible screenplay, silly dialogue, inconsistent characters, awful acting, stupid plot, ridiculous dialogue . . . only the popcorn was good! Save your money . . . watch it free on television in five years. (How can a woman who is so beautiful make such a lousy movies?)