The Quest For Solitude

I love my kids. They’re funny, entertaining, and oh, so sweet. But I am learning that I need at least a few quiet minutes to myself each day in order to be at my best. Whether it’s reading my latest win from Goodreads, writing a bit myself, or just pondering the day ahead, I am a more sane better person if I can get it done without having to remove a lego from a nostril or referee World War Sibling. So I make a point to carve out some quiet time.

New game for Milton-Bradley called Don't Wake the Squish. It won't be so much a fun game as it is combat training.

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My first thought was that I would stay up after they go to bed. And that worked until the oldest hit her teen years. I am not exactly a night owl, and most nights I give up and go to bed before she does. Say around 9:30.Did I mention that I am not a night owl? And if I do stay up past ten or so, there’s not enough caffeine in the world to keep me all wakey-wakeys the next morning.

All those “If you want to be your best you” people recommend getting up an hour earlier each morning.  And who doesn’t want to be their best me?  But in my house, I run an early morning gauntlet. I must first turn off the alarm clock before it wakes anyone else.

If I manage to silence the alarm without stirring anyone who might want to keep me company, I can still be thwarted by a squeaky door. The hinges are all oiled now, so my next challenge is to pray that everyone can sleep through the cat. When she first hears me thinking about waking up (through a wall, I might add), she begins her Siamese serenade and continues at about 120 decibels until I pour her some fresh water. Don’t think I can get all clever and pour the water before I even let her upstairs into the living room. If she doesn’t see me set the bowl down in front of her, she doesn’t believe it is clean and will continue to scream until I pour some more. I did discover, though, that she’s not as picky as I thought. If I pick up the bowl and put it down again, she is satisfied.

Okay, I'm loud but not a genius. I am about 430 in cat years. Sue me.

If I have managed at this point to sneak into the kitchen without rousing the troops, I am not fool enough to risk the solitude by making coffee. If I’m not smart enough to grind the beans the night before, I’ll just have to hold my own eyelids open for a little while. And I certainly cannot ponder getting anything to eat. I don’t care if it’s a bowl of high-fiber air, at least two of my kids will be starving and want to share. They are boys and thus at the mercy of their biology.And don’t turn the pages too loudly or Squish will think it’s story time. And hope that I set the volume on the computer low so that it doesn’t rattle the windows when it first springs to life. Get it? Windows? I’m just so witty on four hours of sleep!

Please excuse any typos. It’s five in the morning, and I’m writing this from inside the dirty clothes hamper. They will never think to look for me here!

thirty seconds later: I hear Squish. He’s awake. But I did it! I got my blog post written! I win! It’s going to be a great day! Oh. Maybe not for my husband. He’s awake now, too. And he was praying the coffee would be made.