How to Avoid Eye Contact

Avoiding eye contact. Acting like we don't see someone that we absolutely without a doubt see. That's some funny stuff right there! 
Like when you walk into a restaurant and are all, "Ohmygosh seriously please tell me that isn't Bernice," as you inconspicuously jolt your gaze to the polar opposite direction before official connection and identification has been made.
It's not like there's anything wrong with homegirl Bernice. But you are in no type of mood to be chit-chatting with her. Which is why you all of a sudden feel the urge to visit the bathroom and empty your already empty bladder because it's a single stall, double lock bathroom. And if there is only one stall, that means only one thing....you can't possibly run into Bernice there. 
But you can't stay there forever. Upon exiting the bathroom, you are horrified to find her only feet away from the door. Luckily her back is turned to you. You quicken your gait and your plans of walking straight past her suddenly change when she whips to her left, which instantly sends you making an unexpected, sharp, 90 degree left hand turn yourself. Lo siento, Bernice, but today I will not be making eye contact with you despite your best disguised efforts.
Because when you don't want to talk to someone, you don't want to talk to someone. Period.
And such was the case yesterday. It happened to me. Where I was ducking and double-oh-sevening and hiding behind transparent columns all in an effort to avoid eye contact. To go unnoticed. 
Not that I actually even know a single Bernice. A Bernadette I know. But not a Bernice. Never have personally. So obviously this story isn't about Bernice.
It's about motherhood.  
And that's what I was avoiding like the devil itself. After 9 am that is. I'm not afraid to brag and let you all know that from 7-9 am, 99% of the time I am a champion mom. It's my sweet spot. Throw anything my way and I'll laugh it off, talk it out, clear it up. Except for that 1% when it's a helmet you're swinging and someone's head is where it's landing. Then I freaking lose it.
I'm digressing. 
Yesterday.... I did my mothering of champion from 7-9, but after that a downhill slide came rolling our way. The babies wanted to go on a walk, I wanted to just sit. I wanted to take the kids to The Whale, our home away from home, and they wanted to whine. And that, my friends, was the last straw. All of a sudden....BOOM TIME....I was done. I was having no interest in doing the whole mothering thing after that. And it was that awkward restaurant situation, where Motherhood kept trying to catch my gaze, but I averted it like a skilled Japanese obstacle-ist on Spike TV.

I kid you not, I am buried under this pile of kids. My head is right under Deeter's. And I'm the one taking the picture. Mad skills. 

Because sometimes kids suffocate you. And so, I snuck away for lunch with a friend {that the babies were originally invited to...their loss}. I jumped at a last minute invite to take a run on the beach {in 77 degree weather nonetheless}. I went to the movies with my Yoshi.
I was not going to be talking with Mothering yesterday. Huh uh. Not that there's anything wrong with Mothering. In fact, I actually love her.
But sometimes you just need a day to yourself. Especially when you've been on like BombMom.com for a couple weeks in a row. Right? RIGHT? Mamas, are you listening??? I'm for real, I want to know that you're listening. Here goes.... ALLOW YOURSELF THAT HOUR OFF OR THAT DAY OFF WHEN YOU NEED IT.
Because as fate always seems to work itself out, you're bound to run into Bernice tomorrow and you're both going to embrace. And even though she clearly saw you tripping over your own feet in order to get out of her path, neither one of you are going to make mention of yesterday. You'll just enjoy the chance to see each other today and have a genuine chat.
And with that y'all, I'm out....

Getting ready for a spontaneous weekend get-away to Palm Desert with Yosh and... AND.... my four kids. I told you Bernice would show up tomorrow.