Space, Schmace

Having four boys means I have no real personal space. I’ve accepted that (mostly). We recently installed locks on our bedroom and bathroom doors which has given me the illusion of privacy. But no.

I’ve tried to claim the master bath as my territory only to have one of the boys politely ask me, “Could you please wash your hair over the sink because you leave so much in the tub that I have to rinse it out before I can take a bath.”  “OK, deal – when you guys stop leaving poo deposits in there. That was not a Milk Dud I found on the ledge.”

This means YOU.
This means YOU.

The boys will be playing happily together upstairs which is my cue to leave them alone. I busy myself with checking Twitter cleaning the kitchen until the noise level reaches maximum volume. When they start coming down wearing my clothes, playtime is over. “Look, I’m a mom”, says the son wearing my bra overtop my favourite sweater as he clomps around the kitchen in my snazzy pair of flats. “Hey, I’ve been looking for those sunglasses!”

I have learned over the past years of the Boy Invasion to hide my Peanut Butter cups in a rotating locations so they never get suspicious. I’ve also learned how to eat M&Ms and convince them I’m snacking on some raisins. Those are mommy treats and I’m not sharing.

Even my purse is subject to their prying eyes and hands. “You’ve got gum? Can I have some?” “Hey where did you get this candy?”

I would like to use the laptop without little eyes peering over my shoulder. “Why are you laughing? Can I see? CanIcanIcanIcanI?”

This lack of boundaries became abundantly clear not long ago as I was gathering up materials and resources before I went to work to prepare for the new school year.

“Hey! Cheese strings! Cheese Strings?! Guys! Mommy has cheese strings. Mommy, why do you keep cheese strings in this pocket?”

Those are not cheese strings. Stop going through my backpack. SOME STUFF IS JUST FOR ME.”

See? No boundaries.

Editor’s note: They were not cheese strings and I was not prepared to launch into the “talk” just then.

Alone time – how do you make it happen?

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Author: Jan Moyer

Embracing my inner child since 2005.

12 thoughts on “Space, Schmace”

  1. Alone time? Easy. I commute to work. Evan can’t catch the car as I go down the street, and keeping the radio up muffs his wails and softens my guilt.

  2. “What’s so funny.”
    “You wouldn’t get it.”
    “Tell me, please.”
    “No, seriously. It’s not funny unless you know about the rollout of the Obamacare fiasco, obscure late 80’s videogame characters, and 3 previous comics this guy has done.”
    “Explain it to me!”

  3. I instituted quiet time when the first one was little. It has been forgotten, but then I remember why Mommy is so stressed out. Quiet time is essential for me when spending the whole day with children. They go to separate areas of the house from each other and me and read or do other approved activities. Napping is always approved.

      1. That being said, my parents couldn’t find me once when I was three or four. I had climbed a ladder and was on the roof. So there may not have been enough effectiveness.

  4. Quiet time at in your own home….never. The best place to be “alone” is the doctors office. You know when you are directed into the room and the “dr. will be right with you.” yes, THAT is alone time!

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