"Babe, why don't you take the kids to the park?"
It's like a secret code in our house. I don't know if you picked up on my hint, but this is code for "I need a break!"
Let's cover all the bases first...
Yes - I adore my children
Yes - I enjoy being a SAH (stay at home) working Mom-preneur
Yes - Homeschooling is the best parental decision we've made
Yes - I too deserve a break
"Ok honey lips..." babe replies "Is 2:00 ok?"
"Yup - thanks, dear!"
Immediately I start to plan what I will treat myself to. Even in a one car family, I know that I'll have access to it. Why? Because when the kids go with Daddy they walk everywhere.
Now, I have to be careful with my time. This only happens about once every 5 weeks, so I must carefully calculate the way that I will spend this solitude.
Starbucks? Heck yeah - I haven't had any in a month.
Hair Store? Ok, ok. It can be quick because without baby girls I won't have to stop every 5 seconds to look at 'pretties.'
Walmart? No way girl. Talk about a time sucking monster.
At precisely 2pm the husband loads them up on bikes, trikes, and assorted skates and off they go. I wait for 10 minutes before grabbing my keys to (a) put on a bra and (b) make sure that they don't come back for any boo boos or forgotten items.
Off to the races I tear around the corner and make my stops. When the urban chick at the Starbucks drive through questions my hot coffee order on a 106-degree day I just give her the look and she keeps on trucking.
Back in 23 minutes - not too bad. About 90 minutes left. Good, good.
The rest of the afternoon weights in the balance now as I calculate my next pivotal decision. What music? Jessica Reedy? Jonathan McReynolds? Tye...Casey J...all wrong. But the smoother beatboxing of Kevin Olusola is just right. Smooth movement and instrumentation. Just enough to inspire me as I sit to get some work done.
But first - I just sit. In silence. And have that first triple white mocha with a pump of peppermint. Sweet relief.
But then, the phone rings. The library is closing and the 3-year old isn't interested in another long bike ride. Boo boos have been had and the boys are dying to eat. So instead of 120 minutes, I get 83. And as I grab my bra (again) saying "No problem, I'll be right there!" and pour my Starbucks into a styrofoam cup I am so thankful that God gave me the 83 minutes to recharge that He did.
Those 83 minutes were powerful. I breathed in peace and out strain. I found myself in the drive-through line. I soaked in solitude on my sofa and as cheesy as it sounds, His rest was immediate upon me.
83 minutes was more than enough.