My Alone-Time Agenda

Not long ago, I found myself in the house. Alone.

I don't know how it happened. I can't say for sure where all the children were. All I know for certain is that at some point I had the urge to yell, "Keep it down in there," and realized no one was making noise.

I went to investigate the silence, and after three steps I noticed I hadn't tripped on a tiny person dangling from my pant leg.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd told someone to quit asking for a cookie.

I was alone!

Actually, I knew what was going on - Gerry had taken the kids with him to the store. However, by the time I came to grips with my aloneness and had begun to celebrate, they were already back. I couldn't help but feel I'd wasted my Precious Me Time in a semi-catatonic, slack-jawed stupor. There were so many things I could have done - what a wasted opportunity!

I vowed never to let that happen again.

Next time everyone is out of the house, I'm going to get the most out of every single second.

I typed up an agenda.

Because I'm a nerd.



Some people might be tempted to use this time for a shower or some such responsible nonsense, to which I say don't be crazy. Sure, it's nice to have the bathroom to yourself and rinse all the shampoo out of your hair - Maybe even use conditioner! - but think about it. Mom's Alone Time is for stuff you want to do. Once they're home, they won't mind you taking a shower eventually (if you wait long enough, they might even beg you to take one), but nobody's ever going to beg you to dance around in your underwear while listening to old Prince albums and singing passionately into a hair brush.

Or whatever.

I'm just saying, make the most of it.

So, as soon as the door slams behind gently clicks shut on the heels of my husband and the brood the next time they go out, here's my plan of action.

1. Five minutes of grateful weeping - because, hey, I'm only human.
2. Pee with the door open.
3. Boldly eat 17 cookies in the middle of the kitchen without fear of sharing.
4. Clean cookie crumbs off the kitchen floor - because fun is fun, but I don't want to get ants.
5. Down on the floor, notice some old chunks of dried up cereal bar and petrified fruit snacks under the cabinet toe kick. I should sweep those up before the baby finds them and decides they might still be delicious.
6. There, that's better. While the vacuum's out, might as well sweep the living room.
7. Gah, the couch! It looks like it's made entirely out of cat fur. Hook up the attachment and vacuum the cushions. Might as well get between them, too.
8. WHAT WAS THAT? A Sasquatch gargling chainsaws? A thousand motorcycles in a blender? Nah, a couple Legos just got sucked into the vacuum hose.
9. Try to ignore the new vacuum noise until I smell something akin to rubbery burning electronics. Unplug vacuum and fish through the guts of it to retrieve the stupid Legos.
10. Reassemble vacuum. There's now a thin coating of dust and vacuum filth on everything within a twelve foot radius. Take the canister, containing the discarded chunks of food and enough fur to make a new cat, into the kitchen to empty it. Trip on the vacuum cord and spill the canister onto the kitchen floor.

Around this time, Gerry will be back with the kids. Both the house and myself will be dirtier than when they left. The kids will have heard the seven or eight obscenities I yelled as I face-planted onto the kitchen floor. Gerry will need me to take the baby, since I'm all rested and he's been wrangling the kids on his own this whole time. Within seconds, one of the kids will see the cookie package I left on the counter.

"Ooooh, Mommy, can I have a cookie, too?"

Never mind, I hope they never leave me alone again.
We'll just all stay here together and click the Top Mommy Blogs button. Okay?