A Mom’s Sacred Sanity Savour

It’s 6am and I am sneaking about the house getting dressed, brushing my teeth, collecting my book, packing up Loch’s laptop and grabbing my car keys. I’m heading off for my Sacred Saturday Sanity Savour morning. I start with a walk and then head to Pure Vanilla for a latte, a mini frittata and a muffin of my choice. I read, I write and I don’t return until lunchtime.

Sometimes while I’m walking I look at the faces of the strangers passing by me and I wonder if they know that I’ve escaped. Return to sender is stamped all over me. I am so accustomed to being on call 24-7, I can’t help but think that someone has accidentally left the door open and I’ve crept out undetected. I know I have to go back and really I want to. But, for the next four hours I’m not on call, not responsible and do not have to speak to anyone. I feel an unbearable lightness of being.

All too soon, my time is up and I am in the car driving home. Part of me is happy to move on with the day. I have disengaged myself from my family, put more water and coal into my steam engine and now I’m ready to connect with them once again. Another part of me; however, is worrying away the inside of my cheek with my teeth.

My husband is in full support of Sacred Saturday Sanity Savour mornings, but that doesn’t mean he always has a smile on his face when I return. These mornings are equally important for both of us. While I need to get away, he needs to be there, really there. He needs to relax into the routine and to feel confidence in his time with the boys. Sometimes I make the mistake of calling and am greeted with a grouch on the other end of the phone line. He doesn’t know what to make for lunch and/or everyone is melting down. My immediate reaction is to drive as fast as I can to his rescue, but this isn’t my homework. My homework is to listen, be encouraging and then let him figure it out. After all, I’ve had to figure it out.

Sometimes, I walk through the door and am greeted with chaos. Everyone is running amok and hungry. The Wee Wrestler is crying and has been all morning. The song of my solitude on these occasions is cut off like the needle across a record. I have to go within myself to hum the tune and tell myself that it doesn’t matter. If I don’t do this then the beauty of what I have created for myself will be erased and this just isn’t an option. Then, of course, there are days I return to a happy, content household and I wonder why I was ever worried. The problem is, I don’t feel I can count on it.

Truth be told, Loch doesn’t always come home to a calm and peaceful environment, either. Some days he walks through the door to find me wide eyed and tousled. It’s going to happen. What I have learned, though, is that getting my solitude is equally about letting go of old habits, ways of thinking and the stuff that just isn’t mine as it is about carving out peace and quiet, time and space.

Photo Credit

“Minty Green” Harold Laudeus @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. some Rights Reserved.

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