Mommy is Running Away From Home

Hey kids,

I’m sorry mommy had to run away. You see, I’ve just about had my fill of bullshit for the week. I’m tired and none of you ever sleep. I’m a bit of an insomniac myself, or at least I believed I was, but now I’m wondering if maybe it stems from all the crazy shit that goes down in our house every night.

Last night, there was a nightmare about hairy pumpkins chasing the dog–a made up story if you ask me. I know you said it was because I let you watch that show before bed, but that had clowns and a talking doll. Then, your brother got up because he peed. I pulled off a completely dry diaper, and I guess he figured since he was already up, he’d talk to me for a bit before nodding off.

As soon as I got him to bed, your father, who felt put out by all the evenings activities, rolled over and asked mommy if they could spend some time together. I wish I could explain this to you in more detail, but if I did you’d need therapy and we don’t have the money for that.

When I woke up in the morning and attempted to unload my bowels, I was met with evil stares and comments about breakfast. Since having all of you, my digestive system is a complete mess because I’m constantly catering to your every whim and never have a moment. Not even to rid my body of waste.

And forget about using the bathroom alone.

That’s another thing: I never have time alone, ever. Someone is always demanding I hold them, feed them, play with them, or just plain pay attention to something. I often find myself hiding out in the bathroom with my phone. I have tried to lock the door, but apparently you kids have some distant relation to Houdini or have Googled how to pick bathroom door locks. Please, let mommy piss and shit in peace.

Alone time, sleep, a screwed up digestive system… wait, I know there’s more. I have a list. Yes, I have kept one. You all know I’m a list maker. The problem is, before all of you, things used to get checked off on said list. Now, I never seem to cross things out, instead I simply add tasks, which is why my list now looks like a novel.

This brings me to my writing; I need time to do it. I’m sure this makes me sound selfish, though your father finds two nights every week to play hockey with the boys. Yes, it helps him stay in shape. However, the three beers and bowls of nuts he consumes afterward do little to help him maintain his boyish figure.

Wow, it really feels great to get this off my chest, finally. Confession really is good for the soul. Geez, I’ve always hated clichés or at least I thought I did.

Of course, now that I have four of you, I don’t seem to remember much, including my likes and dislikes. Take food for example, I eat what you eat–or rather, the leftovers of whatever you had. Do you think I enjoy eating bread crust and goldfish crumbs?

What is this, prison?

When I finally do choose my own meal, normally hours after you’ve eaten, one or two of you decides my dinner appeals to you, though your own dinner earlier didn’t. You eat off my plate as if it is your own, just like you all once fed from my breasts like you owned them.

I know I’m your mother and you feel entitled, but there are a few things I still need as a human. And while I’ve so graciously requested them (okay, sometimes I’ve yelled, cried and demanded), you continue to ignore my pleas. Is asking for a few minutes alone so awful? Your father wonders why I stay up so late. Mommy needs some time to just relax without having anyone calling, screaming, wanting or needing. Please forgive me for being human; I know mothers aren’t supposed to be.

Well, I guess I’ve said what I needed to. Please don’t try to find me. I am not in my usual hiding spots. I’m not in the basement pretending I’m trying to find one of your old toys, upstairs attempting to trick your father into believing I’m putting laundry away or (and this one really makes me chuckle) changing the sheets, and I certainly can’t be found in the bathroom you all find so interesting when I’m in there. No, I am gone and will return when I feel ready.

Don’t cry; I’m sure your father will take wonderful care of you. He is perfectly capable of feeding, clothing, and bathing you. Though he doesn’t do those things often, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Right? Don’t you think? Maybe you’ll go without having your teeth brushed twice a day or wearing clean and matching clothes, but you’ll survive.

I am NOT going to picture your rotted teeth and untied sneakers. I’m not thinking about those things at all.

Fine, I’m headed home. I really hadn’t gone far, just down the street in fact. I’m hiding at the neighbors. Her bathroom is so quiet and clean. She doesn’t even have a lock on her door.

Love,

Mom

Nicole Johnson is a fiction writer, blogger and stay at home mom raising four children, a dog, a cat and a husband. She fears birds, anything with the potential to cause fire, and Disney World. Her work has been featured on Mamapedia, Scary Mommy and The Mid. Her blog, Suburban Sh*t Show: Tales from the Tree-Lined Trenches chronicles her life in the sh*t  show, and she can be found on Facebook and Twitter, which is her new obsession because it forces her to get to the damn point.