To Dispel a Lie...

I know there's the running joke about moms and bon bons. I am here right now to squash that little lie. We don't do bon bons.
  The other night was a typical Monday night. I had about 16 drop-off/pick-ups to do in the space of 3 hours. You guys, I'm exaggerating. The real number is 6.  And in between all this, I also needed to get homework done and dinner made and on the table. Now before I go making myself into Super Mom- as any self-indulgent, lazy, cyber Mom is sometimes very tempted to do- I'll spill the beans...I had a babysitter. Who had made dinner, who was managing one side of chaos while I drove the other, who was helping me tag-team the madness. Which really demoted the status from craziness to just...busy.
  So back to Monday night... finally I we had arrived at T-10 for the last pick-up. My hunger had beat the dinner bell and therefore a third of the family had eaten, a third was gonna get cold dinner, and a third was.... screaming? crying? yelling? I can't quite remember what mode of communication was being used to relay the dissatisfaction. Maybe one of the above, possibly all of the above. All I know for sure, is that when these form of communications reign, you can usually find me in a corner, or sitting hunched over on our toy ottoman cubes, or sometimes even army-crawling on the ground. Anything to go unnoticed, undiscovered.
  At this point, Yosh walked in the house, right into the eye of the storm. His entrance usually acts as a calming agent. Like taking a slow sip of piping, hot chocolate. Like being immersed in a steamy bubble bath. That's what Yoshi's entrance does for us.
  Except when it doesn't. And of course that day...it didn't. The upheaval wasn't meant to be so easily resolved. And with that, the screaming ensued. Right to the beat of my disturbed, hyper-active heart. Yosh sat at the dinner table, peacefully enjoying his warmed-up manicotti. Hailey, the baby-sitter, graciously offered to go pick up the last straggler from basketball. And I, selfishly, declined her offer and started making preparations to outrun my child that absolutely wasn't invited to ride along and would surely put on a chase when he became privy to the information.  At this point, I nonchalantly open the silverware drawer and grab something, and equally inconspicuously open the freezer and grab something. And with that.... I take off on a mad dash down the long entryway with someone hot on my tail. But I know this straightway is my stretch to gain the most ground. And ground is what I'm needing. Because my intricate plan has me getting out the door and closing it before he reaches the door. It's only a matter of seconds that separate success from failure. And as Eminem so insightfully preached, success is the only option, failure's not. And with this reminder, I pick up the pace as the increased screaming is at my back, taunting me with what awaits me if I don't get the heck out that door.

My {one?!} sprint training session at the gym paid off and I beat that speedy 3 year-old to the door. He's on one side, trying to beat down the door, desperately pulling at the door handle. And me, I'm on the other side, securely holding the door shut, with the key in the door, waiting for the split seconds when his guard is down and I can turn the latch to locked position.
  It doesn't take long at all for this to transpire and I am quickly sitting in my white minivan. And while exhaling there in the van, I'm repenting for all the times I have called it anything besides my place of refuge, my safe place, my quiet spot. Because is this exact moment, it is nothing less that a refuge for one on the verge of crazy.   And with that, I backed out, threw the car in drive, opened my mini-carton of  Ben & Jerry's Half-Baked and indulged the whole 8 block round-trip... one eye on the road, one eye on my mood relaxer.     Moms and bon bons is all a big lie. But moms and Ben & Jerry's.....