Twyste

As I drove along I could see that my speed was higher than the posted limit and was steadily increasing. Usually when one notices this, he or she puts on the brakes or eases off the gas to bring the car back closer to the speed limit. On most occasions that is exactly what I would do too. However at that time I found my mind wandering.  I began to wonder… how fast would I have to drive to not just get a ticket, but actually go to jail.

As a physically and emotionally exhausted mother of small children, jail had a lot of appeal.  I made a mental list…

1. Meals would be prepared for me
2. I would have a regular schedule
3. I would not be responsible for taking care of someone else
4. I could get a full night of sleep

… all things I was craving. The problem was that I loved my family and knew that eventually I would miss them.  The very people I wanted to run away from were also the people with whom I most wanted to spend my time.  I was just overwhelmed by the all-encompassing totality of motherhood.  I was always responsible, always on.  Always.  That “always” was a hard adjustment for me.

I just wanted some off  time.  I didn’t need a spa weekend; I simply craved space and irresponsibility.  Jail.  The retreat for mothers of small children.  Yet another Hallmark card opportunity missed.

In the end, I slowed my speed, choosing my sentence. For that day I chose my little prison of poop over jail.  It wasn’t the last day I weighed my choices though.

Related articles

• The Motherhood Manual: “When the *spit* hits the fan” (twyste.com)
• Motherhood Manual: Knockers in the woods… and I’m not talking doors (twyste.com)
• The Motherhood Manual- I have all the answers. (twyste.com)