I Need A Minute

My evenings have always been my own "personal time." Why is this sometimes called "Mommy time" ? It's not mommy time- in fact, it's the polar opposite: it's "Me" time. It should be called something more like "Autonomous Human Time," when I get to just BE. Without having to be a wife, a mama, an employee. Time when I don't have any role to play. Usually, after I put the kids to bed, I have a precious few hours to do my own thing. "My own thing" includes, of course, straightening up the train-wreck that is the downstairs of our house as much as I can, unloading/ re-loading the dishwasher, and my favorite- sitting on the couch in the den watching whatever the F I want to watch, and folding laundry. When Pete is at the restaurant, this schedule works very nicely. When he gets home, there's always a modicum of tension about what gets turned on TV. Suffice it to say, he has his shows- I have mine. And never the twain shall meet. He has taken, lately, to watching the absolute bottom of the barrel, market to the lowest-common-denominator shows you can possibly imagine. Barely one chromosome away from primordial ooze kind of TV. This is a problem. I used to just go upstairs at this point, climb into my beddy-by and watch my stuff until I fell asleep. Recently, though, my evening routine has turned into sitting on the couch with my laptop and writing. As I'm doing now. I have to put the TV on mute, otherwise I end up with posts like last nights: All you ever wanted to know about our cat shit problems, and other random randomness mixed with mommy brain A.D.D.
SQUIRREL!!
What has suffered, you might ask, in this equation? (You mean, besides any semblance of a sex life or marital intimacy, or even conversation?) OH- my house. The time that I HAD spent trying to get a handle on the situation has now been given over to the love affair between me and my laptop. It makes my lap warm. Guess that's why they call it a "laptop."  Mmmmm. Nice, warm laptoppy-laptop. Do it for Mama, you crazy Vaio, you.
Sorry- got distracted there...
A good friend came over with her kids tonight., for a playdate. The myth of the "playdate" is this: it's really just an excuse for moms to get together and complain about husbands, trade parenting nightmare stories, and desperately try to plan for an evening when we can get together and "do something without the kids." (Or the husbands for that matter). And drink wine. And try to feel like we did when we were young and single and unencumbered by responsibilities, or children. Having time to just "hang" with girlfriends is so vital. Without it, I fear I might turn into Sheri Lewis and start talking into a yarn-sock shoved onto my fist and calling it Lambchop. Not to mention that even attempting any semblance of intelligent conversation goes right out the window when three 5-year-olds come screeching into the room every 5 seconds chasing each other, or yelling, "Mama, Mama, Mama" over and over and over and over and over and over and over and overagain.
Don't misunderstand: I'm NOT complaining about having kids! (Have you read any of my other posts?) I just need a minute here and there.
An old friend asked me to "like" a project she just completed working on, on Facebook the other day. To my delight, I discovered that this project is a film (which she directed- yeah, women directors!) called "Fully Loaded." This movie is about... wait for it...
"two feisty single moms cruising L.A." IMDb describes it: "On a rare evening out, two feisty single moms discover that it's not so easy to hook up with a total stranger anymore. This "van-centric" dark comedy, set in LA--offers an opportunity to eavesdrop on how women genuinely feel about men, relationships and themselves."  
Wait- who climbed into my head and sucked this movie out!? Oh. It was her husband. And her brother. They produced and wrote it. And no- nobody sucked anything out of anyone's anything. There was no sucking. Pervert. 
I can't wait to see this movie- I hope it's everything it already is in my head. I need an evening out like this. Badly. I'd just like to lose all the weight I've gained in the last 7 years. (6 permanent pounds for every round of IVF we did. We did 6.) Do the math.
OK. Got my minute. Now I must go put laundry into the dryer and deal with the mountain of dishes in the kitchen sink. Sexy, huh!?