After two weeks of the kids being home from school, I just got an hour “alone.” Why the quotation marks, you ask? Because I spent 55 minutes of that hour WITH MY KIDS!

I wanted a cup of tea, so I started my hour downstairs boiling water while my daughter screamed at me for suggesting she use the spirograph to make geometric drawings. She wanted to do them by hand and was furious with me for proposing she use a tool. Whatevs kid, just trying to help.

I finally escaped to my room only to hear the BOOM BOOM BOOM of my sons tiny, yet alarmingly loud, feet barreling down the hall. He burst into the room and spent 10 minutes jumping on me before he was physically extracted by my husband.

I settled back into bed with my computer, excited to do a little writing when I heard the call every mother dreads, “Mommy, I’m do-ne!” I walked into the bathroom and helped my son out. Then ran back to my room.

I locked the door and not 3 minutes later did I hear a BANG BANG BANG of my daughter’s fists. “I need a very important toy I left in there,” she said. I opened the door and went into the bathroom. She followed me and stood there for the whole, glorious event, wipe and all. In my hour alone I couldn’t even take a pee without an audience?

During my 60 minutes “alone” I broke up six fights. Got tackled multiple times. Answered seven questions. Gave five hugs. Wiped one butt (not my own). Listened to three rambling stories about the cat …

And begged to be left alone.

Where was Gabe in all this, you ask? Watching football. But to his credit he did try to keep the kids away from me. They just couldn’t resist the power of mommy. So apparently next time I want a little me time, I’m going to have to leave the house. Which sucks, because I’ll have to put on a bra. And braless me-time, as we all know, is priceless.

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