As a working mother of four young children I need a little time to myself now and then. But, as a working mother of four young children, obtaining that time is pretty near impossible, even moreso now with my current living situation.
I work late at my office two days a week and on those evenings I enjoy having the freedom to leave work, head out to a friend's house or to the cinema, out for a bite to eat, to a pub for a drink with a friend and just generally unwind before heading back home. Some nights I spend cruising the supermarket aisles doing the weekly grocery shop, purely because I can do so uninterrupted by the pleas of little people to add various treats to the trolley. I can run calculations through my head on offers and whether they really are as good as they seem when the offer is for something packed in 500g boxes and all they have in stock are 750g ones but they're on the buy 3 for 2 offer. I like being able to think without looking in four different directions for people that can't reach the second shelf yet.
Tonight I worked late. Tonight I had a break from the children. I didn't got to the pub, or to the cinema, or to the supermarket. I enjoyed the freedom from little people.
What did I do?
Cooked pancakes with 45 teenagers instead. And the ironic thing?
They were easier to handle en-masse than my four little ones, but considering these thoughts, the conclusion baffles me.
The teenagers were messy. My four are messy.
The teenagers mucked around a lot. My four muck around a lot.
The teenagers ate enough to feed an army. My four eat enough to feed a second army.
The teenagers were cheeky. My four are cheeky.
The teenagers ran riot round the building. My four run riot at home.
The teenagers didn't clear up after themselves. My four don't clear up after themselves.
There is a pattern. I'm thinking maybe it's the fact I'm not going to reach the epitome of my mothering skills until my children are teenagers.
Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that I could flip the pancakes and most of them couldn't and that made me cool, or sweeeet, or awesome, or whatever it is that nerdy parents are when they temporarily enter the Dude Zone.