Being a mother who works at home is a thankless, yet rewarding career.  I can support my family and also have the flexibility to be available for them.  But you know what they say about all work and no play.  Below is a very special glimpse into a few moments of me-time I had the fortune to experience.

My children are older now – one in high school and one in college. I’ve work out of my home since the princesses were just tiny tots. It’s a nice arrangement. On one crazy day I decided to take some time off the clock and enjoy some Mission Therapy (Read: stop at my favorite thrift store to look for any treasures I may have to have). The store was not too busy. It was not crowded and I was not in a hurry. So far so good, right? What took place is no exaggeration and I am taking no creative liberties. I can’t make this stuff up.

MOM! MOM! MOM!

MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!

Oh it went on for at least five minutes – which of course seemed like 13 months. The young boy, roughly 3 years old, was standing up in the cart next to his newborn sister who was sleeping in her car seat. How she could have slept though MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! is beyond me.

And the mom throughout this ordeal? Oh she was standing right there pushing the cart, also looking for good junk. Not once did she acknowledge the young lad. Clearly that’s all he wanted.

For the love of Peter answer your son before I have an aneurysm! I had one nerve left and that boy was on it. Correction – the oblivious mom was on it.

Perhaps the mom was wearing those spongy foam ear plugs. I know I sure wish I had my ear muffs, y’know the ear protection you wear to protect your ear drums during target practice. I really wanted to drown out the sound of that incessant chanting. But my muffs were tucked safely at home in my range bag. My dumb luck to leave home without them.

As I tried to return to my happy place and continue on my treasure hunt, I was interrupted by “Daddy I have to go potty!” I thought to myself “Isn’t that the way it always is. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell them to go before you leave the house, they always have to go once you’re in an establishment that doesn’t have a public restroom.”

Then repeat – I hear “Daddy, I have to go potty!” And repeat at least five – count them, 1-2-3-4-5 more times.

For the love of Peter answer your daughter before I have an aneurysm! I had one nerve left and that dad was on it.

Whatever happened to the little boy who cried “Mom!” and the little girl who had to tinkle? I don’t know. But I can only surmise the little girl wet her pants in dad’s new sports car and the young boy has a horrific case of laryngitis by now.

So much for my mission therapy; I was ready for Vodka Therapy by the time I left that place. And left it empty handed I might add.

Some days I think “too bad all parents can’t be more like LA” But then again … one of me is plenty – wouldn’t you agree?