3 hours and 47 minutes

Addie went to “school” for the first time today. 

For this little almost-two-year-old, it means she went to the same church her brother does three times a week, stomped down the stairs wearing her little dinosaur backpack and marched down the hall from Zack to a little toddler room with blocks and a fish tank and six boys and girls that had no idea what they were in for with this little pink blur. 

Haters be hatin’ because when you say she’s too young and it’s not necessary and it’s whatever, well let me tell you what. I didn’t see a suffering baby girl screaming to be released from the pain and torture of (GASP) playtime with kids her age; nay, I opened up a door and saw a little girl lying down nicely on her mat, a smile creeping over her face as she showed me drawings, all with purple crayon, that she made for Momma. 

For one day a week, she doesn’t have to remain in the car watching Princess Sofia while I take her brother into this mystical place of mystery. For one day a week, she gets a break from Momma, and yes, oh yes, Momma gets a break, too. 

From the time I tiptoed sneakily out the door while she knocked on poor Fishy’s tank to the moment those blue eyes gazed up at me during Quiet Time, we had three hours and 47 minutes. 

 

I went grocery shopping. (No squirming or singing songs about squeaky wheels or condiments)

I put said groceries away. (All at one time)

I talked to my stepmother on the phone. 

I had a second cup of coffee (in one sitting).

I ordered food for Addie’s birthday party. 

I listened to (rap) music REALLY loud while driving by myself with all four windows down because I could.

I made playdates. 

I finalized Mothers Day items.

I worked on some Mary Kay things. 

Organized upcoming photo shoots.

I sat on a step outside, coffee in one hand, pretending to be planning some garden plants, but really and truly, I was planning (and, in a way, not planning at all) the potential for these Monday mornings. I could do nothing. I could do many things. I could do everything. That’s the thing. For four freakin’ hours a week, I have no said plans and no kiddos. 

I truly believe that these four hours will help me appreciate the good bad and ugly of the other 164 hours I’m focused on the kids and/or other people. 

But what these four hours mean to Addie are even greater. These could be her first best friends; her first lessons, her next burst of vocabulary or skills. 

So for three hours and 47 minutes, we all regrouped. 

We joined forces, marched out of that church, backpacks worn and steps being counted. Zack yelled “white car!” as he always does when we get to a parking lot and he and Addie proceeded to “gab” to one another for no less than five straight minutes. And we didn’t make it five miles down the road in that time, or even two miles, because there was one very happy Momma sitting in the front seat watching the interaction from a rearview mirror. She had many accessories — a headband, some sunglasses, and a badge of immense pride, hanging right there next to her heart on her Momma Sleeve. 

All because of three hours and 47 minutes. 

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