Generally I feel a certain wariness when mom’s start to talk about “me” time. Sometimes I feel like there is a trend toward taking too much time for yourself, to the point of selfishness. I think it almost breeds an unhealthy, “poor me” syndrome.
Sometimes. But not yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? (Sometimes time blurs together until I can’t remember much of anything, or hardly even form a sentence, but I digress. . . .)
Yesterday, or whenever it was, I decided to can some wonderful tomatoes that my mom-in-law shared with me. There were only two shopping bags full, so I figured it would be no problem at all. Tomatoes are so easy to can.
But somehow those tomatoes took much longer than I expected. Actually I was in the kitchen all day, peeling, cutting, boiling water, filling jars, and trying to keep Tiny Baby happy. And trying to keep Miss 2’s pants dry. And chatting with Miss 4, who has morphed into a leopard named “Spots” for the week. Tiny Baby started out strong, but she got sick of canning in the kitchen about half way through the job. So the canning started to go something like this.
Peel one tomato, wipe off hands, pick up Tiny Baby and pat her until she stops crying. Set Tiny Baby down. Check Miss 2’s underwear. Send her to the potty. Peel a couple more tomatoes. Start to feel hopeful at the tomato progress you are making. Try to get Miss 4 to cheer up Tiny Baby who is hollering again because she doesn’t like the feel of her own backside sitting in her baby chair today. Realize that Tiny Baby is not responding to Miss 4, who is starting to freak out because the baby isn’t responding to her. Wash hands. Pull up Miss 2’s undies and get her and Miss 4 a snack. Pick up Tiny Baby. Realize that Tiny Baby needs to nurse again. Turn off the boiling water you were about to spoon into jars so it doesn’t all boil away. Stare longingly at the tomatoes that are waiting to be canned. Go nurse the baby. Return to kitchen and repeat.
Needless to say, at the end of the canning, which I miraculously did finish, I was feeling very, very done. I couldn’t be done though, because I realized that the girls needed a snack when they get home from school and I didn’t have one. SO I made cookies. And then I made dinner. And then I was so done I wanted to burn down the kitchen. Or at least leave the kitchen and never go back.
When I called my dear husband at six to see if he was coming home or if I should feed the girls dinner without him, I was listless. He said he wasn’t quite on his way yet so I should proceed without him. I tried to, but then Miss 2 made a terrible potty mess and I had to clean that up, so by the time he got home, all the girls were running around the house in a frenzy and dinner was sitting on the table, uneaten. (and I think Tiny Baby was crying again.)
Then my dear husband did something super wonderful (as he often does). He reminded me that tonight was my bookclub meeting and they were meeting at a restaurant and even though I hadn’t read the book, I could go and have dinner, all by myself with other grown up ladies. W-O-W.
“ME time.” That phrase I despise. I brushed my hair, put on makeup, and fled to that restaurant. And it was wonderful. It was not selfish at all. It was essential.
