8 Hours

My 2 year old joined her big bro at school today, as she will every Tuesday and Thursday, which means that for eight hours a week I. Am. Alone. And suddenly...confused.  I can just get out of the car and shut the door and walk away?  I can go to the bathroom with nobody fighting over who gets to hand me the toilet paper?  I can go to a coffee shop and sit...with a computer...and write?  Oh...the things I have missed!   (But, seriously, what in the hell are all these people doing in this Coffee Bean?  Don’t they have to go to work?  How much free time do these people have?  Lucky bitches.)   I remember back in the day....way back in the day...when I was a single gal living off of cheap wine and veggie burgers, I used to come to coffee shops and write.  (With an actual notebook and pen, not this fancy computer that I can’t really figure out.)  Even then, it always felt like an indulgence to be sitting somewhere in the middle of the day drinking coffee and putting pen to paper.  As I sit here, laughing a quiet, evil laugh at the man trying to wrestle a chocolate milk from his daughter’s death grip, it’s hard to believe that all these years later I am able to do this again.   I’m sure Husband would prefer me to be doing something that makes actual dollars appear in our bank account, but damn it, I’ve earned this day.  This four hours of uninterrupted time.  You give so much of yourself to everyone else as a mom and today I am taking it back! Do you hear me?  RISE UP MY MOTHERS!  Okay, I’m getting excited.  The truth is, today I AM going to indulge in this four hours.  After I finish this delicious coffee, I plan on a pedicure.  And a trashy magazine.  But very soon, these 8 hours a week I have to myself will turn into time to get shit done without any helpers.  Closets need to be cleaned, houses need to be kept after, diapers need to be bought, dinner needs to be made...and God forbid I make a doctor’s appointment without clearing it through Husband’s schedule...but one thing I have told myself as this school year gets under way is that it’s time for Gelato Mama to find herself again.    (Cue Rocky-like inspired music.)  I love my kids more than anything, but the last thing I want to be in ten more years is a woman who has lost herself completely to play-dates and soccer schedules and wholesome, nutritious meals that nobody will FUCKING EAT.  Gelato Mama is getting her grove back, damn it.  She will also clean the closets and potty train the little one, but Not.Today.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.