The Escape Artist

             We have one chicken who is a master escape artist. Her name is Sunny, and she goes rogue almost every afternoon. She brilliantly flies off or climbs through a fence hole (there are some perks to being the runt and smaller than everyone else) to free-range without her sisters. She eats first from our compost. Then, she tastes the choicest grass on the hilltop. The world is her oyster or buffet (however you want to look at it). She loses the safety of her flock; but since she is the bottom of the pecking order anyhow, she also frees herself of the heirachy and pain. 

          Sometimes, I wish I were Sunny. I just want to fly off and have my own space. I feel a pang of guilt in admitting that; but this past week, I realized that even Jesus got tired and took naps. I can't tell you how many times I've been exhorted to get up early before everyone else and spend time praying, just like Jesus did...and I'm not saying they're wrong. It is biblical, but I can't remember anyone preaching about how even Jesus took naps. It's in the Bible too (Luke 8:23). Remember the story about Him falling asleep in the boat and being woken up because of the disciple's fear over the storm. (Can you relate to people, albeit little people, waking you up because they're scared?)
          At one time, I questioned why anyone would seriously not feel like going back to their family after getting a break. I remember hearing a good friend express this to me, and wondering what was wrong with her. How could she even consider this? This was all before I had more than two children, so that might explain part of it.
          This past week has brought me many moments that are funny now, but I desperately wanted to escape from at the time. Half-Pint incubated some duck eggs that Puddles (our female mallard duck) is refusing to sit on. After a few hours, the porous eggs began to ooze their rotting contents. The smell that hit me when coming into the house was horrendous. I would suggest checking what your nine year old has researched on the internet concerning fertile eggs...yes, they should have shadows...but also veins...and only AFTER incubation, not before. We had to dump the eggs, but thankfully, Puddles has begun laying more fresh eggs. This meant cleaning the incubator. I carried the base (that was too heavy for Half-Pint) filled with some putrid water accross our carpet, never realizing there were some holes in the base until some of the nasty water spilled on my clothes and the carpet. It was enough to make me want to hide in room and take a nap, but that didn't work out so well for me this past Saturday either.
           I laid down to rest my eyes for half an hour. When I got up, I went down to the basement to start some laundry. My jaw dropped open in suprise at the concentrated laundry soap that covered a good 3 square foot area of tile. While I was resting, the container had been knocked over onto the floor and the lid that I had loosened so the detergent freely flowed out the other side came off. I began sopping up the soap with some dirty laundry while I wondered what the point of my nap was. I no longer felt rested.
            Then there is the awesome change of season which brought the sudden realization that Mary has one outfit for fall...and Half-Pint has zero warm shirts. We headed off to Kohls last Friday for a lesson on Economics and Art (creating and combining outfits for the tween crowd at our house should count for something,right?) We were only there for ten minutes when little Carrie declares that she has to pee NOW. I race to the nearest associate to find out where the bathroom is. As I'm shoving the stroller at break-neck speed (the amount of accidents I have cleaned up in the past month are beyond counting, and I don't want another one now), Carrie stops in front of the stroller to talk to me. I run into her causing her to complain about her ankle getting scraped, but I rush past her goading her on toward the bathroom. I'm convinced she is exaggerating the pain, but she promptly drops to the ground in agony, holds her breathe, passes out, and looses control of her bladder in front of the Vera Wang pajamas display. We proceed to the bathroom and problem solve how to get a five year old to the van where clean clothes (intended for my potty-training three year old are). Carrie refuses to put her wet clothes back on. I end up giving her my Blush as a makeshift skirt. We did exit the store again 3 hours later with a couple pants and tops for both girls. Mission accomplished. I won't even go into detail about the escapade of yet another accident on Tuesday this time at the park by Grace. She rode home in a diaper and jacket, since I hadn't remembered to replace the clothes for the accident bag.
        The reason for wanting to escape from my work isn't really so much about exhaustion or feeling underappreciated like I've heard many moms talk about. I think it might be because I don't really value the moment I'm in. I hate it when the unpredictable happens. I don't like my schedule being messed with. I love what Jill Savage says in "No More Perfect Moms" that "The moment we are in is just as important as the moment we planned." I need that as a daily reminder because my planning is constantly hijacked. My attitude can make the difference between it feeling like a vacation or prison (laundry anyone?).
          So for now, I will relish the fifteen minutes of holding my new eight week old kitten in the sunlight (Harley, the dog, has already been sternly told that they are not chew toys, and he no longer drools while staring at them). I will open my heart to the words I read in the Bible when the house is quiet in the morning. I will stop and smile when my day is derailed...and know that every moment is a gift and an opportunity for growth.