When my kids were younger, I loved reading them the story of The Runaway Bunny.
Having a little one all snuggled up on my lap as I told the story of the little rabbit who tells his mom that he wants to run away was always one of my favorite ways to end a long day.
My kids would giggle and smile as I would use all the years of acting lessons I had making the story come alive.
Being a mom to young children, I could totally relate to loving my child so much that I would go to any length to find him. Most days, I am filled with gratitude that my main job is taking care of three of the most amazing children ever born.
But every so often, I have a day like today, where the character I relate to in the book isn't the mother, but the bunny.
Today I wanted to run away.
I wanted to escape being woken up at 5 in the morning by my 8-year-old's never-ending questions of what we are going to have for dinner, can he be a chicken, and can we go to Burger King for lunch?
I wanted to talk to my husband about the news of the day without having to stop in mid-sentence to remind our 15-year-old that killing his younger brother for having the nerve to walk in his air space was not the best choice to make.
I wanted to close the door to my bedroom without my daughter parking herself on the other side and re-creating the scene in the movie, Frozen, when Princess Anna sings "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?"
I wanted to work on my computer without having to explain to my husband that giving Lizzy a skirt and leggings but no top is just a recipe for disaster because her special needs make it impossible for her to understand that if she waits one minute more, daddy will have a top for her to wear too.
Today was one of those days where I questioned every choice I ever made in my 48 years on this planet. I thought back to a time in my life when my house was quiet, and all I had to think about was myself.
I longed for a day where I didn't have to worry about giving anyone medicine, handling a meltdown, getting clothes ready or meals prepared.
I wished for one second where I wasn't so needed by so many.
Admitting these feelings is a little scary.
Not because I'm afraid or ashamed of them. I'm not. I know they are completely normal and will pass as quickly as they came.
Even good moms can have bad days.
I know this in my head.
It's my heart that needs reminding.
I always appreciate it when someone admits that sometimes being a mother is hard work, and success can be hard to measure.
It's reassuring for me to know that I'm not the only one who occasionally wants to pack up my belongings and run away to the circus.
And to know that this feeling will pass.
I know that I will step out of my locked bedroom door and be greeted with a big kiss from my daughter who will probably say, "Mommy, you're here, I missed you," as if I was gone for a week at sea and not just an hour in my room.
My youngest will probably hear my door open up and run to me asking for a hug.
And my teenager will see me, poke his head up from his phone, maybe even take off his headphones long enough to ask me how my latest essay is going and let me know that my family managed to survive the hour without me. Though with his flair for the dramatic, he may add that they barely survived.
I know that I will be glad to see them.
My kids are getting bigger every day, and I know only too well that one day I will long for a noisy house and a kid begging me for my time.
I want to enjoy every minute I can of this precious time in my family' s life.
But I'm a mere mortal, and I find it a bit easier to savor as many moments as I can if every now and then I make like the runaway bunny and escape.
I know that like the mom in the story, my kids will move heaven and earth to find me.
And for that, I'm grateful!
This piece was originally published on My dishwasher's possessed!