Sometimes...
After we've gotten up at the butt-crack of dawn...
When I've helped with homework, made five breakfasts, prayed and sent three kids off to school...
After I've taken a 22-month-old in for a chicken pox vaccine and then waited for THREE hours at the hospital while coordinating hospital records and preventing tag-a-long three-year-old from setting off the fire alarm, TWICE...
When I've then gone and registered said 22-month-old with CYS (Child and Youth Services), signed a second and third grader up for baseball, looked at toys at the PX with 3-year-old, made it home just in time for naps and breakdowns...
When I spent said naps talking on the phone with banks and hospital records departments...
Picked up kids from school, helped with homework, taken five kids to McDonald's for sundaes to celebrate good grades, gone to church, and finally loaded children back into the van...
Amidst:
"Shot gun!"
"No, I called it!"
"Mo-om! He hit me!"
"Why do I have to sit next to her?!"
"Can I watch Superman when I get home?"
"Can I have a snack when I get home?"
When that last buckle is clicked.
When the last of the four van doors has slammed shut.
Drowning out the sound of my precious cargo inside.
That precious.
Precious cargo.
When I feel the cool night's breeze.
When I hear the cicadas whirring and taunting me with their freedom.
Sometimes.
Some days.
In teeny moments of exhaustion.
As that last door slams.
My mind screams...
RUN!
(I like to imagine a crazy hillbilly laughing maniacally while running through a cornfield.)
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