Passionate About Cincinnati
and the Moms Who Live Here

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I have been a momma for almost eleven years. I have cooked and cleaned, cuddled and comforted. I have been a playmate, a teacher, a chauffeur, and occasionally dabbled in housecleaning. My focus has been almost completely on my family. Their needs have taken a priority over my own. And, truth be told, I have rarely seen this as an issue. I love caring for my family. I love that, no matter what, there are five people in this world who need me. I am mom to four wonderful children and wife to one amazing guy. And I would do anything for them. Anything. And that, my friends, is why I am leaving them.

Allow me to explain. Over the past few months, I have become a new version of me. And, to be perfectly honest, its not a version I care for. I should have seen this coming. There was a two month stretch where a night in which I managed to sneak in four hours of sleep was a good one. I run a small business, home school two young children, keep our house from falling into complete disaray, and occasionally sneak in an hour or two to write something meaningful for this blog. All things I LOVE to do. But late nights, early mornings, and long, long days take their toll. I am grumpy. Really grumpy. I have little to no patience with my rambunctious, fun-loving kiddos. I have the energy of a sloth. In other words, I have lost my mommy mojo. I need a break. But I can’t bring myself to take one.

This may seem ridiculous to some. How difficult is it, really, to carve out an hour here and there for some good, quality “me” time? My answer? VERY. This is not a failing on the part of my children, or even my husband. I will admit freely that the failure is mine. You see, if there is one thing I am good at, it’s laying on the guilt. Not on others, but on myself. I manage to single-handedly foil 99% of my attempts to gain a little freedom. I’d go grab a coffee with a friend but our house is an absolute mess. I could go to the library and write for a bit but my son is not feeling well. I’d love to go to the park and take a walk alone but I bet the kids would love some time on the playground. You get the idea.

It has become fairly obvious to me, especially over the past month or so, that brief outings here and there are not going to work. So, in a moment of confidence (or perhaps of temporary insanity), I bought a non-refundable plane ticket to spend a weekend with my sister in New York. That’s right. Non-refundable. As in no excuses, no turning back, no last minute change of heart. Come what may, in three months time I will be flying high, headed out for a weekend of glorious, uninterrupted freedom. And I can not wait!

I love my family. I really do. But sometimes…well, sometimes even the best things can drive you a bit insane. As dramatic and impulsive as this trip may be, I honestly feel it has become my best option for a little relief. I do realize that this fix will be temporary. I will have to fly home eventually, and all of the stress and responsibility will be waiting for me. I know I have a long way to go, and it’ll take more than a non-refundable ticket to cure what ails me. I hope, however, that this trip gives me a chance to regroup and recharge, and I come out of it a little closer to that me that I (and my family) have been missing. The realist in me knows that I will have to face the inevitable guilt as I depart, and even more once I return.   But I will declare here, with no hesitation, that I plan on enjoying the heck out of those four days in between!



 

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