It happened…

I am in my basement, sweaty and hot from the treadmill, the earbuds from my mp3 hanging down the front of my shirt, the music reaching my ears in a sort of hollow, distant way. The computer hums, and my fingers type.

I am alone, in my house.

Alone.

I think I can count on one hand how many times in the past 6 years this has happened to me. There is always somewhere HERE, whether awake or asleep or any state in between. But right now, Ben is at a friends, Thomas isn’t home yet, and Shane is at work. All at once, I am exhilarated and slightly guilt-ridden. I love being a mom; I love having little ones playing in my house, calling my name to ask for a drink or a snack or help with a problem.

But I love my solitude, I love to have my own quiet time. It makes me feel so selfish that I crave alone time to read or sew or simply lay in my bed and find shapes in the texturing on my ceiling. And I don’t get this alone time much in my current life. I’m sure I will one day, but now, it’s so rare that it now feels forbidden and in a way selfish. And I know that in a moment, Thomas will race through the door and fling his backpack on the floor and want a drink and to tell me about his day, and I will be glad to see him.

But in the back of my mind, I will wish for a small second that I could have had one more moment to myself.

Wait…was that the door I just heard opening?????