My mom once had enough of our antics—she threw up her hands, turned around, and just left. We didn’t blame her; we had pushed her to her breaking point. She eventually returned, but for a stretch of several tense hours, her absence hung heavy in the air. Let me rewind a bit.
This week, I found myself craving a break—a simple, aimless “just sit and do nothing” type of break. Motherhood has a way of sneaking up on you until you’re overwhelmed, buzzing with stress like a persistent mosquito. After weeks of cooking meals for teacher appreciation, signing permission slips, tackling the paper mountain on my desk, battling the overgrown yard, and keeping everyone fed, the late afternoon headaches set in. No amount of caffeine could tame that monster.
And then, of course, someone had to post a tranquil beach photo with perfectly pedicured toes in the sand, triggering a dramatic sigh from me. I know it’s just me; you’re probably cruising through life without a care. But if one of the balls I’m juggling drops, or I grab one too many fast food meals, or I haven’t had a real conversation with my partner in three days, or if I have to scoop up another hairball from the floor, I might just snap.
I reminisced about the days when my kids were small, when a clean house was a relative concept, and applesauce and ice cream counted as dinner. I’d shuffle around like Quasimodo, a teething baby balanced on my hip while dragging a toddler who seemed glued to my leg. Those mornings until naptime often felt like a blur of broken crayons and diapers, and bless my husband for arriving home just in time to witness the chaos. Let’s just say I didn’t greet him with a smile and pearls.
Those times weren’t always glamorous. I’d gaze out the Window of Despair, questioning my life choices and contemplating how much gas was in the car, wondering how far I could drive away. They call it postpartum depression now; back in my day, it was just called motherhood, and you were expected to soldier on without help.
This brings me to the night my mother took off. My dad was abroad for a year, leaving her with three teenage daughters and two young kids. Talk about a recipe for disaster! Three girls with synchronized PMS, a demanding 5-year-old, and a toddler who was a walking disaster waiting to happen.
After 18 years of marriage, Mom had finally decided to take a couple of college classes. She was trying to read actual literature and write coherent papers while juggling the demands of five kids. Perhaps she felt a bit overwhelmed, but whatever her reasoning, she decided to put her books aside for one special Sunday roast beef dinner. The table was set with all the fixings—mashed potatoes, steaming gravy, rolls, and veggies. We gathered around the table for some quality family time before the hectic week began.
No one remembers what sparked the chaos. One of my sisters made a snarky comment, and it escalated—much like how a gentle breeze can turn into Hurricane Katrina. Hormones, exhaustion, and a deep-seated desire for chaos brewed into a perfect storm. It all started with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, and before Mom could intervene, dinner had devolved into an all-out food fight, complete with hot gravy, flying green beans, and furious screams. The grand finale? The pitcher of iced tea splattered against the wall.
My third sister grabbed our younger brother from his high chair, his eyes wide with fear from the mayhem. She pulled me into the hallway, her only thought to “save the children.” At some point, someone likely noticed the absence of parental supervision. Mom was gone. The driveway was empty, and an eerie silence fell over the dining room. Uh-oh.
If Dad had been home, this would have ended differently. Two of us would have faced some serious consequences. Instead, we cleaned the mess in silence, heads hung low, and went to bed without a fuss. The three older sisters likely sat in their room, discussing how to pay the mortgage until Dad returned.
The next morning, Mom was back in the kitchen, making breakfast as if nothing had happened. We later learned she had driven to the beach, sat on the dunes, and let the sound of the waves wash over her as she chain-smoked Tareyton 100s. She needed a moment away to remember that she loved us.
We didn’t talk about that day for years. It wasn’t until much later that we shared the story with Dad, after my sisters had moved out and were free to spill the beans.
Now, on days when I feel overwhelmed and at my limit, I think back to that moment when my mom left. I recognize the signs that signal it’s time for me to step back and reclaim my sanity.
This too shall pass. Each day brings fresh mercies in motherhood, just like the morning newspaper. Though I can’t always escape to the beach, I can close the bathroom door for a few moments of peace. And when things get really tough, I’m all for ordering takeout.
For more insights about parenting, you can check out our privacy policy on another blog post. If you’re on a journey of home insemination, this site offers valuable resources, and for more information about pregnancy and fertility, this CDC resource is excellent.
In Summary
We all have moments when life feels overwhelming, but it’s important to recognize the signs that indicate a need for a break. Finding small ways to regain your sanity can make all the difference in the chaotic journey of parenthood.